The World Into Words

A blog dedicated to lovely words // Writer // Ocassional artist // My work: I. Song

[theworldintowords]

If I close my eyes I can remember

The way the wind played with your hair

Ice-cold hands

A scar above your lip in the shape of a crescent moon

The things I forget with the passing of time

Wave after wave beating against the crumbling rock

Until you are nothing but a ghost

A shadow

….

Untitled // I. Song

[trulyvincent]

Blue’s turned in to

My favorite new hue

Father of green

Lover of yellow

Sky and the sea team

Lovable fellow

[mixscrns]

Details from Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus

[aseaofquotes]

Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping 

[trulyvincent]

Emiliano Ponzi

[henryclervals]

Ivor Gurney ‘To His Love’ (1917)

In ‘War’s Embers’ (1925 ed., annotated) / original poem manuscript

[theworldintowords]

This is what he missed ---

The ocean air biting at his sun-kissed skin with salty 

breath; Slipping into the water, dipping his head between

those cool, satiny sheets of blue and feeling bone-deep

aches evaporating into a wide sky; Seagulls wailing; Long

grasses murmuring; Some waves hurtling towards the

jagged rocks with a crash, others sinking into beds of

sand with a gurgly sigh. 

This is what he has longed for but now, upon

returning to this beloved, glorious place, he feels so

strange. It's as if someone has rearranged the furniture

and now he is constantly tripping over the ottman, or

he is forcing two jigsaw pieces together that simply don't

want to fit. It is not his home anymore; but the scene

before him is the same as it was a decade ago - 

immortalised in sand and sea and sun - instead it is

him who does not fit. And he is suddenly angry at

the people who told him that home was not a place,

because he has gone away to try and love her, to

be home for her, and she has hammered at all his 

corners and tried to jam his edges in next to hers when

really, he has always belonged right here amongst

these lonely, towering dunes...

Home is somewhere else now but it wasn't supposed to be her // by I. Song 

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“And I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.” - Franz Kafka, The Castle (via the-book-diaries)

[fate]

via weheartit

[antonio-m]

Soldier of Marathon Announcing Victory Jean-Pierre Cortot, 1834 Musée du Louvre, Paris

[theworldintowords]

She begins reading poetry as some sort of 

experiment; the others around her swallow

sentences dripping in heartbreak and grief (aka:

things they have not seen themselves) like they

are starving, and she is curious to

see why they search for metaphors about starlight and

bones as if they cannot find both things by looking

up and within. 

She says she is reading poetry because she

doesn't understand how a cigarette can be poetic or

how a burning seatbelt could describe how it 

hurts when someone safe lies to you. 

She says she is reading poetry but she is

not “reading poetry”; she is breathing in air perfumed by 

flowers grown in the belly of a woman in love, she is

licking at the blood of someone else's bullet wound, and

she is cradling the broken heart of a man

dying from unrequited love. Oh, but

she is

living.

We live in each other // I. Song

[fate]

via weheartit

[theworldintowords]

And if I don't have you At least I'll still have  me.

CYN // I'll Still Have Me

[gosh]

via weheartit

[fruityogurt]

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bm5gofvls8t

[prospects]

[weltenwellen]

Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations (via weltenwellen)