Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Solitude in Modernismus

Dear page
Emptied soul
Canvas of my thought
Today, I've realized
How alone you are
Devoid of soul
How much you long
You've never left me
You've been witness
Of the thousandth storm
My only companion
You, poor soul
Oh! doleur!
Your humble nature
Stirrs my soul
But I couldn't give you more,
Of the knowledge of gods and lords
Of the wisdom of others
You've been envelope.
Have some pity on me, mon coeur
For even beneath your skin
I feel I long
Nowhere to belong
Tilting up my head
Searching for comfort
Embracing thoughts
You're still a virgin
I'm your Don
How lonely is the poet
You know
For his own pages
In his same language refuse to talk
Even in the Alps
The poet is alone
He longs.

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