No one is meant to open every door presented to them immediately nor are they expected to know exactly what is behind them, for better or worse, that's the fun part.
Oh, the depth in these lines! What an exquisite portrayal of the ceaseless wonder of life's journey. Your words evoke the richness of experience and the allure of mystery, transforming even dead ends into havens of intrigue.
I'm captivated by your metaphor of life as a verdant hedge maze, where the very act of wandering, of facing winter's chill and stalwart storms, becomes a testament to our resilience and curiosity. It begs the question: is it the unknown we fear, or the relinquishing of our need to control and define it?
Your second stanza strikes a resonant chord. How often do we encounter the self-proclaimed saviors, their solutions as hollow as the promises of a snake oil peddler? The notion that true wisdom is born of humility and rich experience is a powerful reminder. Might this be someone we all know and detest? Or a stranger who seems familiar?
And that image of perfection in clear glass, capless and fleeting—such a tantalizing, haunting thought. Can we ever truly grasp the ephemeral nature of life's mysteries, or does the attempt itself strip away the very essence of what makes them wondrous?
I'd love to dive deeper into your inspiration for this piece. What personal journeys or experiences shape this view? And how do you navigate your own hedge mazes, embracing both the wonder and the storms?
I swim out of my underwater dark cave in my dream to see a mouth open with blue light that beckons me to rise and when I do reach the surface take a breath of fresh air to see on the horizon a shoreline not to far away to start my renaissance day visible possibilities to explore.
I love the words you used, the sound of them coming together in this poem, which is so good.
Oh, the depth in these lines! What an exquisite portrayal of the ceaseless wonder of life's journey. Your words evoke the richness of experience and the allure of mystery, transforming even dead ends into havens of intrigue.
I'm captivated by your metaphor of life as a verdant hedge maze, where the very act of wandering, of facing winter's chill and stalwart storms, becomes a testament to our resilience and curiosity. It begs the question: is it the unknown we fear, or the relinquishing of our need to control and define it?
Your second stanza strikes a resonant chord. How often do we encounter the self-proclaimed saviors, their solutions as hollow as the promises of a snake oil peddler? The notion that true wisdom is born of humility and rich experience is a powerful reminder. Might this be someone we all know and detest? Or a stranger who seems familiar?
And that image of perfection in clear glass, capless and fleeting—such a tantalizing, haunting thought. Can we ever truly grasp the ephemeral nature of life's mysteries, or does the attempt itself strip away the very essence of what makes them wondrous?
I'd love to dive deeper into your inspiration for this piece. What personal journeys or experiences shape this view? And how do you navigate your own hedge mazes, embracing both the wonder and the storms?
I swim out of my underwater dark cave in my dream to see a mouth open with blue light that beckons me to rise and when I do reach the surface take a breath of fresh air to see on the horizon a shoreline not to far away to start my renaissance day visible possibilities to explore.
It’s nice to see someone else use the word “transmogrifying”. I thought I was the only one who used it in his poetry. Very cool 😎