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Iniciaste sesión como:
filler@godaddy.com
The Songs of Innocence and Experience rocked my world from a very early age. Christian mystic, poet , artists and renaissance man, William Blake (d. 1827) captures darkness and light with such poignancy, truth and humanity. He is a radical visionary, who like many a great beings, are considered mad by their contemporaries. Blake has deservedly grown in popularity long after his death Which speak to the nature of the Arts being a great immortal.
A committed Christian whose work leans heavily on the Bible, Blake was hostile to the Church of England and , indeed, to almost all forms of organised religion. I love that the 19th-century scholar William Michael Rossetti characterised him as a "glorious luminary", and "a man not forestalled by predecessors, nor to be classed with contemporaries, nor to be replaced by known or readily surmisable successors". Exactly.
This is one of my favorite poems from the illuminated William Blake:
The Garden of Love
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns,
were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.
I've had so many dreams for a better world and
Not knowing how to make things right
I’ve danced drugged and drunk
Till the morning light.
I've let men and wild ideas
Keep my distracted.
I’ve lost track of myself -
Confused and contracted.
Poisons of anger, desire and
doubt fueled a journey of potholes & pain.
I've lost people and time,
Some never heard from again.
But the cruelty of indifference
Has been the hardest to bear.
When will we wake up and really care.
Sacrifice means making sacred -
Make me sacred if you dare
I bare my soul and stand here naked,
Declaring what I cannot live without.
I have never asked to be cared for,
I'll ask one last time to be cared about.
SCREAM
My head is full of rage
And I can not find the door
Tired of being tolerated
I want to be adored
The coldness of an artic wind
The keys to such despair
My screams are getting louder
Its deafening in here.
Respect is something missing
Boundaries drawn, often crossed
I'm slipping down the rabbit hole
This love is surely lost.
Of secrets, lies and silence
Like the saga of the cross
No better than a life half lived
I'm drowning in the loss.
THIS REALM
The winds of change are blowing
Jewels are scattered to the sky.
Feet heavy with due purpose
Hard to find my wings and fly
But harder still is desolation
Self serving silence well contained.
The blame game isn't funny now
For love so precious, wild, untamed.
Decisions heavy like a storm
I sit here darkened and forlorn
A condemned consort dreaming too
Imagining this realm without you.
CARPET SWEEPER
Swept under the carpet
All the mistranslation
All the misinterpretation
All the miscommunication
All the well taught lines.
Swept under the carpet
All the disfunction
All the distress
All the disrespect
All the well worn lies
Swept under the carpet
All the faithless
All the baseless
All the tasteless
All the well worn tires
TRY
Don’t speak
Can’t speak
Won’t speak
Why?
Traum
Boredom
Mindless
Lie
Heart-filled
Cry-filled
Truth-filled
Try
Open
Honest
Liberate
Die
FRANNY
This is the summer the Moon spoke of Fury
This is the summer that Mercury Rose
This is the summer the Sun burnt thru Ignorance
This is the summer the Stars came Alive
This is the summer that Fear was Resolved
This is the summer that Franny died.
Copyright © 2023 Hedda Moye Leonardi
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