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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I Still Believe I still believe in spring the way a wound believes in healing and a bud believes in sky, I still believe in sweet illusion burning through the trunk like a mystery held high, Through buds that crack wide open out of love like hearts too full to keep, I still believe in you... though forgetting comes... and I've lost track of my own sleep. The world is still in one piece and I gather up its shards with my bare hands, I still believe in saving grace the way the night believes in dawn and the sea in soft-sand strands, I still believe in clean madness and the virginity of the very first word, I still believe in apple blossoms falling... and rising... and drifting off unheard. I still believe that hidden in every stone wall sleeps a window waiting there, That in every pitch-black night a blue light flickers somewhere in the air, That from so much hate packed deep into our bones we'll find our way to love, That the garden doesn't fit inside a flowerpot... no matter how hard we push and shove. I still believe in our fragile strength and in our living weakness too, In pure black and white... not in the grays kept stocked for making do, The trunk howls with hunger for a graft and I feel that cry inside my chest, I still believe that spring doesn't lie... even when it comes... crooked and blessed. I still believe in the resurrection of dead things left beneath the snow, In buds, in love, in truth that refuses to be brought low, Through all the illusions that have passed like water through our fingers and our years, I still believe... and that's exactly what keeps me... alive... and whole... and still in fear. And if the world splits open like a trunk dried out by autumn and by longing's ache, I still believe that something small and full of color grows inside that break, A wild little bud that knows nothing of winter or of frost or of the grave, I still believe in spring... the way one believes... from the first word to the last one made.
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