M J Fraser
Glittering down from high above
Encircling the world in a sparkling glove
Set upon the blackest night
Guiding all with gleaming light
Stars that speckle the night on high
Without a cloud, the angels sigh
As wishes, dreams and space collude
And shooting stars we must include
For way above in darkest night
We send our wishes to bring what's right
Taylor
In realms unseen by mortal sight,
Where shadows dance with beams of light,
A quantum world, both vast and small,
Where every choice and none are all.
Through threads of time that bend and break,
Existence quivers, worlds awake;
A multiverse of parallel streams,
Each crafted from forgotten dreams.
Across dimensions strange and far,
Where gods and demons wage their war,
They shift like whispers in the dark,
A spark of light, a hidden mark.
In one realm we are bold and true,
In others, fractured, split in two;
Between the worlds of night and day,
The shadow’s call, the light’s delay,
Fairytales and myths collide,
Where dragons soar and spirits hide.
The Fates unwind, the Weaver’s spin,
In tangled loops that fold within;
A step beyond, a step before,
Through time’s revolving, open door.
In every universe we roam,
Each path a glimpse of fleeting home;
We wear each mask, we play each part,
All of us shining a fractured soul,
But a single heart.
So dance with us in endless space,
In realms unseen, in love’s embrace;
For all we are, and all we seem,
Are ripples in a quantum dream.
🖤🖤🖤
Emily Dickinson is considered one of the greatest American poets of all time, famous not only for her singularly brilliant and innovative poetry, but also for her mysterious habits, reclusive tendencies, and morbid fascination with death.
Throughout her life, Dickinson was often misjudged as a shy and strange loner, but her poems and letters reveal her to be bright and witty, a rebel against the social norms of her time. She was tormented by the limitations put upon her as a woman despite her impressive intelligence, and spent her life struggling with the question of faith despite living in a deeply religious Christian community.
As an adult, she rarely left the bedroom of her childhood home in Amherst, Massachusetts. And though her writing expresses a longing for recognition, she had fewer than a dozen poems published in her lifetime — it wasn’t until after Dickinson’s death that her sister found a treasure trove of nearly 2,000 poems hidden in the poet's room.
Pathways are laid
For journeys forward
Moving, winding,
Ever onward
Rocky or slippy, jagged or smooth
They lead all the way
Cut like a groove
Barriers rise and obstacles sit
Weather beats down
And enemies hit
But forward we go on the roadway ahead
Climbing and moving,
With a map we are lead
Despite heavy weather or things in the way
Continue the journey, with tolls to pay
M. J. Fraser
