She lay on her side looking at the helix as it hung from the ceiling, twirling colors causing an onset of hypnosis of some sort. Clenched between her teeth was, a red fountain pen, its black ink drying at the steel nib; while she held onto a jacquard turquoise cushion. Yes, she had gotten used to keeping her arms around something. Continue reading
This I stumbled upon today and was overwhelmed by it, for what it means.
It is interesting how something, someone wrote ages ago, at a different time and place altogether, could mean so much to someone else today; and how a lot of times the intended (or the unintended) and the perceived meanings can be so alike or different, yet, nonetheless relevant. I am truly dumbfound by life as it makes things come across us when they really ought to.
I genuinely believe a beautiful poetry from the bygone era deserves to be shared when they are getting lost in the yellowed pages of old books and among the least browsed pages on the web.
When You Are Old
by William Butler Yeats