|—||Marc Maron (via emergentpattern)|
All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call —
It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;
The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll,
And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.
I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed;
And then did something speak to me — I know not what was said;
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,
And up the valley came again the music on the wind.
But you were sleeping; and I said, ‘It’s not for them — it’s mine;’
And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.
And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars;
Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die among the stars.
So now I think my time is near — I trust it is, I know,
The blessèd Music went that way my soul will have to go.
|—||Alfred Lord Tennyson, ‘The May Queen’. (via funeral-wreaths)|
I can’t screw up anymore. Raging battle within myself cannot beat me. If it does, im gone through. I gave everything..I got nothing. Sucky place I in life.
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