it is not news that we live in a world where beauty is unexplainable
This is glorious! I'm savoring it and adding it to my largest file: Beautiful Poems"
How thoughtful. Wonderful read!
This poem feels like someone holding wonder and heartbreak in the same breath, knowing both belong to being alive.
The imagined origins of birds reveal a longing for gentler stories, as if the heart needed beauty to be born softly.
There’s something deeply human in watching a creature soar and feeling both joy and the fear of how easily it can fall.
The sudden deaths — the tern on the shore, the bird on the windshield land like reminders of how fragile beauty truly is.
The poem understands how grief becomes harder to share as we age, how our inner language stops matching the world’s.
Its reflections on youth fading feel painfully honest, like someone realizing that wisdom never promised warmth.
Yet it refuses to collapse into despair; it turns toward morning, toward trees blooming again, toward birds singing anyway.
Their indifferent cries feel like life whispering that it continues, even when we feel worn thin by time.
The final invitation to be foolish again, to sing again feels like a hand held out to the tired parts of us.
What lingers is the quiet courage of trying once more to rise, even if the flight is small and trembling.
*where beauty is unexplainable / and suddenly ruined / and has its own routines
*So our lives are difficult, / and perhaps unpardonable,
yi yi yi
I so love how this one moves from science to unexplained beauty to the complexity of finding beauty. As always, thanks so much for giving me something gorgeous to wake up to
Birds are the part of nature that learned to move<3
This is glorious! I'm savoring it and adding it to my largest file: Beautiful Poems"
How thoughtful. Wonderful read!
This poem feels like someone holding wonder and heartbreak in the same breath, knowing both belong to being alive.
The imagined origins of birds reveal a longing for gentler stories, as if the heart needed beauty to be born softly.
There’s something deeply human in watching a creature soar and feeling both joy and the fear of how easily it can fall.
The sudden deaths — the tern on the shore, the bird on the windshield land like reminders of how fragile beauty truly is.
The poem understands how grief becomes harder to share as we age, how our inner language stops matching the world’s.
Its reflections on youth fading feel painfully honest, like someone realizing that wisdom never promised warmth.
Yet it refuses to collapse into despair; it turns toward morning, toward trees blooming again, toward birds singing anyway.
Their indifferent cries feel like life whispering that it continues, even when we feel worn thin by time.
The final invitation to be foolish again, to sing again feels like a hand held out to the tired parts of us.
What lingers is the quiet courage of trying once more to rise, even if the flight is small and trembling.
*where beauty is unexplainable / and suddenly ruined / and has its own routines
*So our lives are difficult, / and perhaps unpardonable,
yi yi yi
I so love how this one moves from science to unexplained beauty to the complexity of finding beauty. As always, thanks so much for giving me something gorgeous to wake up to
Birds are the part of nature that learned to move<3