These are two of the best poems I know. The second one is a bit longer but oh so worth it.



i carry your heart with me
By: E.E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)




The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock By: T.S. Eliot

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair --
(They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin --
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

* * * *

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" --
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

"It occurs to me it is not so much the aim of the devil to lure me with evil as it is to preocupy me with the meaningless." - Donald Miller

And so goes the story of my life as of late. Every so often I have these moments of awakening, and I am reminded, again, just how much is going on around me. It is sickening how easily I ignore the flagrant, world-wide social injustice that is suffocating so many of the people whom God absolutely loves. How can I claim to follow/know/love Jesus but not care about the ideals and people He gave His life for? I will not be satisfied living a life centered around me. Even though awareness is, more often than not, heartbreaking, it brings me so much closer the heart of my Savior and compels me not to settle for meaningless.

Here is something I like : "The place where God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet." - Frederick Buechner


I am starting to entertain the idea that the negatives effects of capitalism may at times outweigh the positive ones. And when I say at times, I mean at THIS time, this current moment in history. Every time that I watch Motorcycle Diaries, it makes me seriously question why I believe the things I believe.

"Justice too long delayed is justice denied."

God is green. While still completely an amateur, I am - wierdly - excited about beginning to lead a life that takes into consideration the environment and taking care of what God has entrusted us with. It has come to my attention that I am an extremely consumptive person and there are a MILLION ways to use less and be more considerate of the generation that is coming after us....Mars Hill Church has some great podcasts on this topic that've given me so much to think about...pruébalos.

The thunder and lightening and ridiculous rain outside make this a perfect time for these thoughts...

1. I always thought college - the educational part - would be this exciting time where a new world of knowledge would be revealed to me and I would be constantly inspired and eager to learn. Unfortunately, it's so far from what I imagined. I spend a lot of time wondering what I'm doing in this standardized institution that fits so neatly into my formulaic life. Since coming to Spain, I've only just begun to believe again that education can be something that I am excited about. I'm taking a class on the history of cinema and, though it counts for nothing on my transcript, it's the only class that I genuinely enjoy. I think Spain is some kind of escape from the educationally monotonous UCSD.

2. I'm beginning to feel like everything is some shade of gray. Every year older I get, I lose one more layer of simplicity.

3. "I'm sorry" are the sweetest words I know. I don't say them enough, and they never get old.

4. Old school worship songs are like a breath of fresh air.

5. I'm losing sight of the end again.

"Hear me, my people, and I will warn you - if only you would listen to me, Israel!
You shall have no foreign god among you; you shall not worship any god other than me.
I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt.
OPEN WIDE YOUR MOUTH AND I WILL FILL IT." - Psalm 81:8-10

I am so ready to LISTEN - to get rid of ALL the foreign gods that I love to worship and give my attention to. How many times do I have to experience the mediocre quality of everything outside of Him? I've heard that sometimes when you don't like a quality in someone else, it's because you subconsciously identify it in yourself. Reading through the Old Testament makes me just despise the Israelites, but a look at my life shouts that I AM THE ISRAELITES. The thing I love though, is that God offers a love that doesn't depend on my worthiness. I am covered in that LOVE. So, here is to endless chances start afresh and to a Savior who has arms wide open.