Let every one be mock’d
left unanswered
lest the love that waits in you pass to other spheres
A backward glance o’er roads not taken
at last I see
The title is settled beyond
recall
and I finally accept
No one here gets out alive
Let none evade
spare nobody
let none asleep
for we must go on with our infatuations
advises unheard of
time makes others find their past in you
and your times
― in a while crocodile!
Decay’s not
just a matter
of body and soul
it’s the unrestful, ungraspable emancipation
of the sheer present…
For life relies upon
battle’s rage
For the genius of the West
rises out of a national spirit
and the privilege of a polished selected few
Life has no meaning
therefore
we better keep the extreme resort
at hand (or in mind)
as a frail means to maintain dignity
I hereby proclaim
autoptosis is my imaginary friend
There will be soon more churches than ever
They wait awhile
The camp, the drill, the lines of sentries, the prisons, the hospitals
A superior breed shall take over
And every man and woman will be his/her own priest
Decline is never accomplished
short of moral decay
2 comentários:
Amazing! As Robert Frost once said:
"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
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