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.
14 march 2025
wiesiek
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absynt
14 march 2025
absynt
14 march 2025
absynt
14 march 2025
jeśli tylko
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ajw
13 march 2025
marka
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marka
13 march 2025
marka
13 march 2025
marka