酷我-北美枫

[ericcoliu]

Reading and Writing: Life on the Page


The Confession of a Poet


Raising my eyes
towards the bright sky
I didn't see God
but his light was sharply shining

Bowing my head
I gazed at my self
and saw a body
youthful, alone and consuming itself

I walked down the road
under the fleeting clouds
and lived out my carefree days


Note:

The Confession of a Poet is a tribute poem to the late Italian film director and poet Pier Paolo Pasolini. While writing this, it was if he were whispering the verse to me himself.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Reading and Writing: Life on the Page


The Confession of a Poet


Raising my eyes
towards the bright sky
I didn't see God
but his light was sharply shining

Bowing my head
I gazed at my self
and saw a body
youthful, alone and consuming itself

I walked down the road
under the fleeting clouds
and lived out my carefree days


Note:

The Confession of a Poet is a tribute poem to the late Italian film director and poet Pier Paolo Pasolini. While writing this, it was if he were whispering the verse to me himself.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[ericcoliu]

The Confession of a Poet is also my poetic response to My Confession:

There is a time for anything, and everything is under His watch:
a time when I am indifferent to God's existence,
a time when I am questioned about God's existence,
a time when I interrogate God's existence,
a time when I believe in God's existence,
a time when I pray to God,
a time when I ache for God,
a time when I cast doubt on God,
a time when I have anger toward God.

There is a time when I call out to God in the dark,
but no one seems to be there.
Will he be here, standing by me?
I don’t know. Is there a God?


Just forget the mind-boggling and soul-haunting question: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?'" -- Psalm 22:1.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

The Confession of a Poet is also my poetic response to My Confession:

There is a time for anything, and everything is under His watch:
a time when I am indifferent to God's existence,
a time when I am questioned about God's existence,
a time when I interrogate God's existence,
a time when I believe in God's existence,
a time when I pray to God,
a time when I ache for God,
a time when I cast doubt on God,
a time when I have anger toward God.

There is a time when I call out to God in the dark,
but no one seems to be there.
Will he be here, standing by me?
I don’t know. Is there a God?


Just forget the mind-boggling and soul-haunting question: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?'" -- Psalm 22:1.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[dundas]

[[dundas]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[christine]

[[christine]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[ericcoliu]

I've revised my poem and made it further tightened up.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

I've revised my poem and made it further tightened up.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[Lake]

[[Lake]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[Lake]

Read your revised, but not sure why you used the past tense, not present. Sorry for the question.

[[Lake]]

Read your revised, but not sure why you used the past tense, not present. Sorry for the question.

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]