19 december 2018
A Poem
A poem, like death-was
unpredictable. You wait for it,
it does not come.
Then you drag a corpse
on stones to find its home
which never materializes.
You give me a hurt. I
become mute. Very shy
to accept the verbatim.
How different we are
in alikeness. I touch you in twilight
of life to become one.
And from daily life
I gather the pain, to print
the version of tomorrow.
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
10 april 2026
wiesiek
10 april 2026
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10 april 2026
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8 april 2026
Jaga
8 april 2026
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