fam is who we are its what we do its who we repersent and why we live god created us and we live for that purpose we live because mom and dad had fun and made us no matter what the circumstance you got a fam, fam is our core because they raised us so what we do repersents what they tought its how come there is a thing as tough love so respect your fam because sometimes fam is all u got
from fam to family thats how it went my moms raised me my pops cared for me my grandmother had my back when there was no one to turn to i always had them i didnt know then but now i do i love them and they love me dont underestimate the power of the family because from fam to family thats how it goes and i want the world to know
Under an undermined and shot-bruised wall
A too-bold captain perish'd by the fall,
Whose brave misfortune happiest men envied,
That had a town for tomb, his bones to hide.
For example, the crack widening in the window of the plane flying over Greenland: crazing is the word used by the safety inspector to describe the mesh of lines spreading from the bullet-sized hole in the plastic through which shine glaciers melting in the sea below—ridge upon white ridge gleaming in the sunlight of an autumn morning, which goes on and on as the plane heads westward. The inspector contracts and releases the muscles in his legs, curling his toes under the seat in front of him, raising and lowering his feet, listening, again, to a partita by Bach.
O what is faith and what is doubt?
Faith is life sun beyond the grave.
Doubt is the battle lost, within, without.
A doubter cries: 'Me, none can save.'
[Excerpt from “My Flute”]
Mirror mirror on the wall
Could you please return our ball
Our football went through your crack
You have two now
Give one back.
Fair or foul, satire or sarcasm, all
I deserve:
Blockade of audition, screening eyes,
As the voice of god tickled
My consciousness!
My Rattandeep (Ghee/burning lamp) sparkled
Even in raging storms
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise.
Du synger ungdomsglad med Smiil paa Kind,
Dig vinker Verden med sit Lys, sin Skygge,
Lad Digter-Hjertet fast paa Himlen bygge,
Vi kun som Børn i Himlen lukkes ind.
Til Kirkegaarden skotter Børneflokken,
De sorte Kors i Maaneskinnet staae,
I Huset sidder Bedstemoer ved Rokken,
Dit smukke Digt hun læser for de Smaae;
De høre om „de Dødes stille Have";
— Som Blomster-Urner staae de skumle Grave.
