There was a church by the river

There was a church by the river
That held more memories than any will ever know
Some stretching centuries back
Some not too long ago
Through the middle was a beaten track
Worn by many who were weary

The gravestones each stood there dreary
Marking names and not much more
Some stood alone, some stood in pairs
With sadness when one date was 20 years before
Yet now both rest, without cares
With etchings that would fade with years

But it's not just the passed who find respite here
A bench where one could find rest within
A swing marked the path to the river banks
Poems and prayer on a board with pin
A fundraiser, with the church's thanks
The living also walked among these trees

Through the gate, past the monument of memories
Stood the church itself, though the doors were closed
Yellowed stone, a temporarily silenced bell
Ancient figures guarded the windows
Stood this building teaching heaven and hell
A portal to the past and the forever

Though the stones were worn with weather
The foundations stood quite strong
Hidden on a hill in a bountiful garden
Was a place where time did not belong
And any soul could come for a pardon
There was a church by the river

The church in the picture is Holy Cross in Shipton-on-Cherwell. I came across it on my travels, and was struck by the place.

Bottling yawns

Sometimes,
I wish I could bottle yawns

And stop any sleep

So I could be yawnless,

for a good while more

Then,

When the mood took me

I would uncork

Let loose the yawn 

And slumber again

Yet,

Capturing a yawn

Would take practice

It would not be possible

For one too far gone

But,
If my mind were right

The dark were not too strong
I could seize my chance

Capture a yawn

And,
Use my bought time well
Until the debt is due
And I set
the 

yawn
free
.

If the world does end

If the world does end

Please promise me this

That I wont go through it alone

As the stars flicker from the sky

As the sea starts to reclaim the land

As the sun burns brighter than ever before

As the new earth begins to springs forth

Promise me you'll hold my hand

So that we can see the end together

Getting some real apocalypse vibes from the earth this year, not gonna lie. Inspo music for holding someones hand and watching the world turn https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blTFetDbWes

The man that built the bomb

He would not touch another soul in rage

If asked for wisdom, his guidance was sage

He tried his best to do no person wrong

He was just the man that built the bomb

Top of his class, best at school

Never unkind, never the fool

He learned his trade with great aplomb

He was just the man that built the bomb

He uncovered ideas never seen before

Then pulled at threads, uncovered more

He could sing the most beautiful song

He was just the man that built the bomb

Without him, the bomb could not exist

Without his genius or need to persist

He could have stopped, he should have known

What would happen when the bomb was blown

And now he speaks in whispered tones

His eyes don't sparkle, now he's been shown

The true cost of knowing all there is to know

Of going where humans should not go

He now remains eternal in the field he sewed

Wondering the cost of the reaping he owed

He tried his best to do no person wrong

He was just the man that built the bomb

I've been reading about the scientists who built the atomic bomb. It's been fascinating, and very haunting. They seem like cultured people, wickedly smart, but having to wrestle with what their knowledge helped build. I don't think many of them could actually have dropped the bomb themselves, but that doesn't matter. Robert J. Oppenheimer's speech is probably the most poignant example of this, but I found this discussion between German scientists upon hearing the news of Hiroshima also very revealing. There is the balance of personal academic pride, moral uncertainty, and disbelief on all fronts.