A Mormon Girl's Life

Stars, Life, and Poems . . .

Stars seem to hang in the sky like globes of light or angel rings and doesn't the sun seem as small as a quarter? *sigh* Today I'm feeling poetic and so you'll have to be creative to know what on earth I'm talking about or actually mean. Earth is so . . . homey and perfect. Yet imperfection seems to be its specialty. People everywhere live and die without knowing how another person exactly feels about the same place and time. Whirling through a portal of life, death, pain, sorrow, joy, healing, light, dark, hot, cold, and countless other parts of our seemingly unimportant exisitence. Personally, it is amazing to me that life is thought to be long and adventutous, when in the grand shceme of things our own life is a spark in a forest fire, a tear in an ocean, a blade of grass in a meadow, a particle of sand on the shore, a birth waiting to be. Light . . . the stuf of the fairy . . . food the unicorn . . . woven by the tapestries of time and memory of long lost color . . . the dust of a touch of happiness in a forsaken being . . . the thought of a kiss . . . a soul fluttering down to the earth to become physical and a part of this seemingly unending cycle of a sun rising, glowing brightly in the noon, and setting with a display of, as of yet, unimagined colors and a beautiful sigh to memorize on a rainy day. Now wasn't that phrased nicely? A little flourished, but all in all a very pretty statement. Like for instantance; flowers: butterflys' souls, the song of yesterday, growth of a hardy spirit, a warmth-filled hug that comforts, a cure to that cold you had last winter. Birdsong: breezes come to life, Spring in itself as itself forever, the wish of a waterfall for a life of its own. Poetry is in everything; everything is a poem waiting to be written . . .