A poet is an unhappy being whose heart it torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say. "May new sufferings torment your soul."
--Soren Kierkegaard
I feel like the crowd complimenting this. But awesome.
In two thousand eight, seven (or so) people got together for the sake of getting together. And doing something. They decided to write a haiku a day (or as close as possible) to one another, to the world, to whomever. Enjoy.
1 comment:
A poet is an unhappy being whose heart it torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say. "May new sufferings torment your soul."
--Soren Kierkegaard
I feel like the crowd complimenting this. But awesome.
Post a Comment