What then, if you lose your leisure
With no time to stand and stare;
No time to stand on the top of the hill
And stare the world under with thrill.
Author’s Note: They are on the top of the world looking down the creations below and think life is alright if only they live one day at a time. And I guess such revelation of meaning of life in nature can be on par with the “Ecstasy of Gold”.
I know it through, see it through
many more
causing up my illusion
playing up my emotion.
I know it wrong, feel it wrong
evermore
I only think about it,
can I still resist it?
Irresistible, irresistible
I can’t fight the temptation
I can’t fight it anymore.
it’s illogical
it’s magical
Forget about Sin
Never mind Reason
still, I love the sensation.
Irresistible, irresistible
I can’t fight the heart,
Nevermore.
The golden chariot of Apollo races
Against the currents of time furiously
In a frenzy of his divine madness
in a paroxysm of ecstasy.
From a land of morning calm far across the deep sea
In a crystal palace shining like the North Star in the night sky,
She selects her own society
Then shuts the door;
Into her delightful variety
Intrude nevermore.
She hears a galloping stopping
At the ancient stable of Artemis;
Still, a kingly hunter is bowing
To her Sovereign Grace.
I know her from the land that is no longer a land
when she was a changeling abandoned in the wood with streams of her sorrow gushing out of her eyes So don’t let me see her drown in the sea of sadness – evermore.
To write with an eager spirit summoned
On all the Consciousness there conjoined
And put a pen to paper in an expense of wills
On the visions and vagaries of the mind’s eyes.
Author’s Notes: Writing is a solipsistic act of a self in an expense of a will, filling a page after page with eruptions of feelings, emotions, and thoughts. I strongly believe that our human faculty is rather instinctive than reasoning, rather physical than metaphysical. It’s a sovereign act of self-will that yearns to manifest the buried hopes, anticipations, and desires that are denied to those whose existence, in reality, is invisible. I write for sheer egotism to let people know that I exist and for aesthetic pleasure to express the ecstasy of my soul when appreciating the beauty of arts. Therefore, I write and will continue to write despite my invisibility.
I look at the blue sky
And see the wind
Carry a herd of clouds
Like a ghost shepherd
Skybound, westbound,
As I’m earthbound, spellbound.
Author’s Note: I always regard the cloud as the sheep in the sky ranch as if the wind being a phantom shepherd or cowboy were driving them into a glazing pasture where they can graze peacefully on the celestial meadow under his watchful eyes. Watching the moving clouds always amazes me as a nature’s panoramic play of wonder.
Flame, Glass and Ink are Poems, essays, and reading notes by Stefania Joori Suh 
You must be logged in to post a comment.