There comes a time for Every Season

November 10, 2018

A Time for Everything

3 There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens: 

²     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
³     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
⁴     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
⁵     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
⁶     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
⁷     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
⁸     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

A time to work and a time to play.

A time to reap and a time to sow.

A time to start and a time to end.

A time to shine and a time to contempt.

A time to help and a time to be helped.

A time to sing and a time to cry.

A time to thrive and a time to wither.

A time to awake and a time to sleep.

A time to laugh and a time to cry.

A time to hasten and a time to slow down.

A time to understand others and a time to be understood.

A time to give and a time to receive.

A time to reflect and a time to rebound.

a time to think and a time to create.

A time to shout and a time to be in silence.
A time to be thankful and a time to be regretful.

There comes a time for everything and it is your sole duty to find your purpose. If you can’t find your purpose, you MUST find your passion, for your passion will lead you right to your purpose.   

Broken

Lovely the Band
November 5, 2018

I don't get the name of this band, and why they named it that, but I do love this song!

Broken

I like that you're broken
Broken like me
Maybe that makes me a fool
I like that you're lonely
Lonely like me
I could be lonely with you

I met you late night, at a party
Some trust fund baby's Brooklyn loft
By the bathroom, you said let's talk
But my confidence is wearing off

These aren't my people
These aren't my friends
She grabbed my face and that's when she said

I like that you're broken
Broken like me
Maybe that makes me a fool
I like that you're lonely
Lonely like me
I could be lonely with you

There's something tragic, but almost pure
Think I could love you, but I'm not sure
There's something wholesome, there's something sweet
Tucked in your eyes that I'd love to meet

These aren't my people
These aren't my friends
She grabbed my face and that's when she said

I…

Photograph

October 30, 2018

Gina Yoryet Román

Photograph

Ed Sheeran

Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes
But it's the only thing that I know
When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes
It is the only thing makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Hearts are never broken
And time's forever frozen still

So you can keep me
Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet
You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul
And it's the only thing that I know, know
I swear it will get easier
Remember that with every piece of you
Hm, and it's the only thing we take with us when we die

Hm, we keep this love in this photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where…

A Terrible Beauty is Born

A Terrible Beauty is Born

Easter, 1916

William Butler Yeats – Irish Poet

August 5, 2010

It seems as if humanity’s most celebrated moments usually arise from pain, death, tragedy, havoc, uprising, darkness, uncertainty, lack of faith. Poet WilliamButler Yeats describes it so in his poem, Easter, 1916, A Terrible Beauty is Born. From 1926 to 1929, the Cristero Rebellion fought to preserve the Catholic doctrine. In spite of the fact that many lost their lives, they prevailed. Thanks to them, Mexicans all through México are able to practice their faith without restrictions.

"Terrible Beauty"

“I have met them at close of day

Coming with vivid faces

From counter or desk among grey

Eighteenth-century houses.

I have passed with a nod of the head

Or polite meaningless words,

Or have lingered awhile and said

Polite meaningless words,

And thought before I had done

Of a mocking tale or a gibe

To please a companion

Around the fire at the club,

Being certain that they and I

But lived where motley is worn:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent

In ignorant good-will,

Her nights in argument

Until her voice grew shrill.

What voice more sweet than hers

When, young and beautiful,

She rode to harriers?

This man had kept a school

And rode our wingèd horse;

This other his helper and friend

Was coming into his force;

He might have won fame in the end,

So sensitive his nature seemed,

So daring and sweet his thought.

This other man I had dreamed

A drunken, vainglorious lout.

He had done most bitter wrong

To some who are near my heart,

Yet I number him in the song;

He, too, has resigned his part

In the casual comedy;

He, too, has been changed in his turn,

Transformed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road,

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,

Minute by minute they change;

A shadow of cloud on the stream

Changes minute by minute;

A horse-hoof slides on the brim,

And a horse plashes within it;

The long-legged moor-hens dive,

And hens to moor-cocks call;

Minute by minute they live:

The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice

Can make a stone of the heart.

O when may it suffice?

That is Heaven's part, our part

To murmur name upon name,

As a mother names her child

When sleep at last has come

On limbs that had run wild.

What is it but nightfall?

No, no, not night but death;

Was it needless death after all?

For England may keep faith

For all that is done and said.

We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead;

And what if excess of love

Bewildered them till they died?

I write it out in a verse—

MacDonagh and MacBride

And Connolly and Pearse

Now and in time to be,

Wherever green is worn,

Are changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.”