Saturday, November 15, 2014

Intellect


Intellect, such a dry, dry bone,
as if flesh were meant by sense alone,
to hang the grace of love upon,
when intelligence is gone,
and respect is flown.



7 comments:

Ygraine said...

Intellect without love...yes, dry as bone.
Wow...this is so deep!

Have a great weekend.:)

William Michaelian said...

You, too, Ygraine, and thanks very, very much.

Jan said...

Thankfully you have plenty of both, William! This is why I love visting with you...you make me feel welcome and share your wonderfully, talented thoughts...thank you~

William Michaelian said...

What I really have, Jan, is a friend in you. Thank you for your kind and generous words.

Lorraine Renaud said...

Intellect can also be a great manipulator in the wrong hands, not yours, you do not manipulate, but I am being torn to pieces by this master manipulator, and everything I AM I WAS DISAPPEARED, for she has said her piece,and now I'm as unwelcome as a dreaded disease, and I do not deserve it. The truth always come out in life or death...than I will be known who the real me...Intellect I have and plenty and enough to know when I'm in the hands of a great manipulator. I can't say her name, she is not know in the blogger world...I don't know how I got on this subject it just came out...you're awesome

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Lorraine. It’s hard, I know. But there is great wisdom in those familiar words, “This too shall pass.” In the meantime, I find the lightest living comes through the art of letting go.

Lorraine Renaud said...

Then i shall, let it go, thank you William