Tuesday, June 24, 2008

MonsterShe-herazade Lamentos

You should not
ripped out your image
taken from us, from the world,
a portion of beauty. \
What can we do
we enemies of death,
bent to your feet of rose,
your breast of violet?
Not a word, not a scrap
of your last day, a No
to earth’s things, a No
to our dull human record.
The sad moon in summer,
the dragging anchor, took
your dreams, hills, trees,
light, waters, darkness,
not dim thoughts but truths,
severed from the mind
that suddenly decided,
time and all future evil.

Salvatore Quasimodo

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