Ann Arbor Review
INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
This is the story of my existence,
slow and prolong,
beans and garlic,
and tiny flashes of happiness;
hearts in barbed wire behind
windows and closed doors
a feathers and tar
and one boy which the Maker
didn't design to be.
REFLECTIONS OVER THE STATUS QUO
What is to live but to mince upon
the footsteps of others, that were here
Living is like walking!
Rhythmic, hastily, leisurely--
to sniff at the fallen autumn leaves,
to observe the faces passing you by
on the hot sidewalk,
to hear the garbage trucks and the ice-cream trucks
and the mailman's truck.
Each step is like a heartbeat
into the chest of the creation;
each upcoming moment is your
When you stride down the boulevard,
you feel more than alive,
feeling the pulse of the living,
of the street, of the city, of this world.
You are part of it!
Seize the day and keep on going
until the day when your legs will be
just a dot in the end of the line,
just like this one.
The stone is just a stone and nothing
The ocean could be something more or
when the eagle rises into the upper layer
of our world's cover, we loose our breath.
Now, the word on the page consists of more
energy than, let say, a whiz-bang.
The line can be more incisive than a scythe,
and the book is often more meaningful than
the ocean itself.
You see, creation is easy. Living is opaque.
Now, let's think about the stone,
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