observando

quote blog

my name is axel marazzi and i eat words for breakfast.

these are my texts . about me . ask . submit

Death be not proud

Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.”

― John Donne

“This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.”

– Rumi

“We would rather be ruined than changed
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.”

– W.H. Auden

“Each star is a mirror reflecting the truth inside you.”

– Aberjhani

“There’s two kinds of women—those you write poems about and those you don’t.”

– Jeffrey McDaniel

“Lovers find secret places
inside this violent world
where they make transactions
with beauty.”

– Rumi

“the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own.”

– Mary Oliver

Love Sorrow

Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
especially when crossing a street. For, think,

what if you should lose her? Then you would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so

utterly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment

by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,

as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow.”

Mary Oliver, Red Bird

“I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.”

– Ovid