DO NOT GO GENTLE...

I have been making a greater attempt to more regularly update this blog, and to not only put up a plethora of pictures in the attempts of telling a visual collective, but to actually share what's on my mind- that which either causes me to furrow my brow in distress or causes joy to reverberate deep within my soul. Hence, the title- rosesandbliss, which signals, for those of you wondering, my precocious infatuation for the search of self, and the proclaimed adoration for the singular most expression of love and beauty- the rose. I chanced upon my journal today, the pink one entitled "musings", which was entirely filled up within a month's time. Filled to the brim with those perpendicular meanderings of the palpitating soul, it was my love story, the re-discovery of self, the most honest and poignant thing I have ever confessed. And in so doing, I became vivid, renewed, completely revitalized to live life, to taste life as it had never been tasted before, to experience it kinesthetically and intuitively. I vowed to honor the art of introspection, of naked honesty and to wax philosophic, to wax poetic, to live frankly and earnestly up to the virtues I had avowed to myself, to my God.

*I am a work in progress*

Aren't we all?

I wanted to, more than anything, share my next favorite poem, (my absolute favorite being T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" if you care to know) composed by Dylan Thomas. It touched me deeply, as I reread the lines:

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightening they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

God, it still gives me chills...