Compassioncamp.com Website Review

Past the breath that only stars have, I find myself an open hand of night with pupils that eclipse the moon. The blackness underneath my feet, not above where the sky is filled with sea. My eyelash covers the arm of the galaxy with one word that means, here. I shake my hair like a cloud and let the spirals of my curls dot the hereafter with quasars. I have no need to crush darkness, only hold my hand out to it like the five I have hidden my teeth for days. I’m afraid they will spill and become silver streetlights in competition with the My sharp points are a reminder that I am atmosphere. The snap of my fingers make stars pulse. The smashed lilacs of my eyelids crumble into the depths of the ocean under moonlight and the whisper of the most delicate dove. I fear I will never eat. I fear my to*gue will hang itself on an ice cube. Marigolds are in front of me like pursed lips, the head of a child that knows to look up, arms spread as an echo. I may disappear, but if I spell my name, I return like dusk and pray to never fall asleep. There is more glory in a drop of dew, That shineth only for an hour, Than there is in the pomp of earth’s great Kings Within the noonday of their power. There is more sweetness in a single strain That falleth from a wild bird’s th*oat, At random in the lonely forest’s depths, Than there’s in all the songs that bards e’er wrote. Yet men, for aye, rememb’ring Caesar’s name, Forget the glory in the dew, And, praising Homer’s epic, let the lark’s Song fall unheeded from the blue. it’s true, we flew. When we were birds, we dined on tiny silver fish & when we opened our beaked mouths sundown poured like wine & like all good beasts & wise green things the mothering sun. We had many gods singing low, sweet songs & closing our blood-rich eyes & sleeping even when we were birds we were sometimes troubled & tired, the earth hurtling up to meet us, our trussed bones readying to be shattered, our unusually large hearts pounding for nothing—