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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-10-27 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
Things to do that must be done
And things we must indulge and love Others still to merely prove And lastly not forget to use Those you haven’t thought of yet But leave you blinded in regret Contract and flow from thought and head Clear to hear yet still unsaid A black balloon; the poison veined and left Beneath the sink finds one bereft. Left on the screen a still frame set These moments splinter by each tick And reconsider what pulls rank And what will make us reach and wish There are no things done, or to do Just endless fields now, Lines of blue Ink dissolves into the slew And edges round with calm There are no things which must be done
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