The stricken birds sing of mortal time.
They are singing very serious songs.
If they could simply sing without stress,
the songs would have no beautiful drama.
I "sing" so obsessively because of you.
And time rushes toward the pale horizon.
And your beauty is on me like fever colors.
Your spirit haunts me like a sigh of death.
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Nicely done. I think of diamonds and how the pressure gives them their beauty. I think of my own hard life and the result of it, this person, me, just like this, because of every serious song I have sung and the colors I have worn and which have been worn by others.
ReplyDeleteYes, it's a lot like that.
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