|Agonia.Net | Policy | Advertising||Contact | Participate|
|Poetry Personals Prose Screenplay Essay Press Article Contest Communities Special Literary Technique|
￭ Arkham Asylum
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Soul of mine, how do you love me?
Listen, lover, what am I to you:
I am a man, am I not? Am I more? And more?
The angel caressing the dead Sun?
The circus beast, tearing all apart?
A blade of grass, unbroken?
Nobody knows. You think you do.
I know something. That’s all.
The world is asleep. “Let us dream fields of flowers”, I say.
Our fingers, glued into a fist,
Are all the beauty we have.
Soul of mine, forgive my asking:
What are we now? What sort of wicked logic keeps us alive?
Do you remember what flying is?
Take my hand.
I know something: you love me.
|Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests.|