We used to worship the moon

@chicory-and-birch

"It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves." - ғʀᴀɴᴢ ᴋᴀғᴋᴀ ▿ winter sunrise ▿ deers walking through the morning mist ▿ handwritten letters in deep red ink ▿ satin moths and black pearls ▿ white water lilies floating on a still dark lake like ghosts ▿ violent angel, golden winged ▿ ♜ ♖ ▿ ruins-of-her-peace sympathywiththought

241 posts

Posts

nonalimmen

“I want to be haunted. I want autumn, flowers bathed in blood, the sort of intensity that weighs me down against my own will.”

— Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth: Poems; “Autumn Psalm,”

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oldpaintings

Vanitas, Still-life, c.1665 by Maria von Oosterwyck (Dutch, 1630–1693)

ruins-of-her-peace

If I haven't remembered to do something you had asked me to, it does not at all signify that I don't care about you. I forget about my tea all damn time and my love for tea is truly quite desperate and pure.

academic-vampire

𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢

mournfulroses

Edgar Allan Poe, from Tamerlane & Other Poems of E. A. P.; “The Sleeper,”

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syringavulgaris

From The Cane Groves of Narmada River, a book of Sanskrit erotic poetry translated and introduced by Andrew Schelling.

russsianbimbo

inlovewiththemooon

vessels of desperation

acrylic and ink on wood

tristealven

“When people ask me what Emily Dickinson poems are about, I want to run away and hide, simply because for me, some poems are not about the ‘about’. They are metaphysical spells that you hold close and don’t really want to elaborate on. They help you to go on when you have nothing else left to go on with, the kind of poems you remember even when you don’t want to remember them.”

— Ilya Kaminsky, before reading ‘hope is the thing with feathers’ (via juliens-bakery)

wordedarchive

It was April and she was the saddest thing under the sun.

Khush Bakht via wordedarchive

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fictionalaffection

old souls

herssian

i recently had a thought. which, as you can imagine, was stressful

seabeck

Dark marsh

mournfulroses

Delmira Agustini, from The Selected Poems of Delmira Agustini; "The Flood,"

petaltexturedskies

Virginia Woolf, from "Geraldine and Jane" in The Complete Works

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A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.

Franz Kafka