Poezie
Nothing sought
1 min lectură·
Mediu
I don't want anything scripted for me,
No milky clouds of cattails blown away,
No pink rash flaring up without my say,
No mourning songs from jars of mystery.
I won't grow forests dark with history,
Or lakes where broken hopes go down to die;
Let others sip the dreams that sweetly lie —
The ones who still believe in what they see.
If fate decides I have to take the knife,
I'll gather carobs and those dancers caught
In deadly visions spinning out of right;
I'll banish falling phantoms from this life,
Then join their quiet dance, with nothing sought,
And say goodbye — candid, and out of sight.
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