Sun’s Gold

The Moon-drawn juices mount; the leaves distil, the Sun’s gold heart-beats into chlorophyll. Out of the Plant’s green blood man’s red is wrought, while stars rain down to gild his brow with thought.

Isabel Wyatt

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Mutability


We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day.
We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free.
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability!

Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Devil and his Minions

My skull’s a chapel. So is yours. The thoughts go in and out like godly folk to mass. But what of hands that itch for gold? What of feet that burn to stray down all the soft and leafy paths to Hell, the truant heart that hungers for the love of mortal flesh? A man can’t live his life within his skull. His other members harry him. They drag him forth. The Devil and his minions lie in wait without.

Elric talking to Godric. From ‘Godric’, by Frederick Buechner