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When you can’t put into words
That feeling of love
A picture will show
The lifetime of memories
That will always last long
It's just a phase and
It will pass too
Just a matter of time
Before I am with you.
I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread
I have a few drafts. Not sure if it needs more or if short is better
How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.
In the land you dreamed

for us, I still wait for you --

dead and buried there.
"Makabrer Wettlauf" ("Macabre race", 1951-1953, Hilde Domin)

Collection "VacantVoid"
Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.
Poetry is good if true
I hate that
In the rhythm of your ecstasy
In the rawness of your craving
I became powerless
To ignore the hunger
That your eyes fed mine
I wish
her scars were on my heart
and not on her arms.
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