Things
I do these things which I do,
things made of perspicuous darkness.
I do them and I drink them,
thus fulfilling my own prophecy
with myself and these things which I do,
which I do so inevitably.
I do these things which I do,
things made of hurt
laid in marble cold nest,
things whispered among
cursed and deaf.
I do them and I remain myself,
insane and drowned
in the milk of black sunrise.
I do these things which I do,
things gentle and things eerie.
I do them persistently,
weeping:
“Depth, be deep.
Death, be dead.
Mother, do not do these things which I do.
My grave is empty
and I am unknown to your heart.”
I do these things which I do.
Death pleases me.
~Dedicated to my love, who is insane and beautiful as the dying moon.~
Draga Nikita
Odlično, tudi jaz, enako. Tiste stari, ki jih poznam in čutim.
Lepi srečen ponedeljek ti želim, še na mnoge pesmi.
Irena
Jedna od najvrhunaravnijih pjesama što sam pročitao. Prekrasno i sretan sam što je napisana.
Your depth is deep, the deepest.
Broad, wide, narrow widening again.
See ya Brankini,
Pesem kot priznanje in zaklinjanje (repeticije), hkrati kot klic in krik - njen vrh tudi jaz vidim na mestu, ko si prvoosebni p. s. želi še globlje globine in bolj smrtne smrti ... čestitke,
Ana
NIkita dobro jutro
ČESTITKE!
Lp,Irena
Branka, čestitam ti! Bravo!
Pozdrav veliki tebi.
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Napisal/a: nikita
- 17. 11. 2018 ob 18:57
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