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ON EXPERIENCE

The lies that nightly toss and turn me
Spurn at the beat of your lips
The porphyry bridge between our tongues
How daft that for them
I had sleep to waste
For gentler have I suffered them
In our passing eyeful of dreams
 
They are a field chaste of rain
Swallowing the murmures
Of the moon, plummeting into day
Rocking the dew off the crest of an elm
Perduring there in the mist
Perduring alone among
 
The listless stance on being
From when we lived young
Pure from experience but
How costly the words it had us spend
How futile the pace taken after it!
 
How fragmented its touch
Splintering along the marrow beneath
Mumbling, dribbling out in wails
Accosting through the teeth
But always bringing injury by injury
One by one failing to matter
Failing to afflict wasteful the passions
 
But here I’d known plenty a faithful fact by heart allowable
That sometimes my memories are as salt-white embers
fighting their end since descent but petering all out
by the rancid mist of the morning
 
They fall mute and hoary
blanketing fact and illusion alike
Spinning the harrowing gray brilliance
Wreathing it in beams and rays of
Glittering, glassy, fallen elmlings
Spitting it to the mess of stars below
The frail gleed-lit walk over the brow
And calling it life

Autres oeuvres par Ed Pedraza Robles...



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