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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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helma object publisher


Friday, 4. April 2003

Twenty-first. Night. Monday. - Anna Akhmatova



Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why --
made up the tale that love exists on earth.

People believe it, maybe from laziness
or boredom, and live accordingly:
they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
and when they sing, they sing about love.

But the secret reveals itself to some,
and on them silence settles down...
I found this out by accident
and now it seems I'm sick all the time.




Big Book Of Poetry












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last updated: 10/31/17 3:37 PM
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