We have done what we wanted.
We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry
of each other, and we have welcomed grief
and called ruin the impossible habit to break.
And now we are here.
The dinner is ready and we cannot eat.
The meat sits in the white lake of its dish.
The wine waits.
Coming to this
has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away.
We have no heart or saving grace,
no place to go, no reason to remain.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Aix In Provence by Robert Browning
- Ode On Melancholy poem – John Keats poems
- A Token by Robert Creeley
- Наум Коржавин – Мой ритм заглох
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For Mr. Gabriel Richardson:
- The Winter’s Willow by William Barnes
- Федор Сологуб – Я люблю мою темную землю
- Ольга Седакова – Кот, бабочка, свеча
- Олег Бундур – Силачи
- Нина Пикулева – Читайте, дети
- O What Is That Sound by W H Auden
- Ок Мельникова – Моя муза любитель блюза
- Independence poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster
- Hyperion, A Vision: Attempted Reconstruction Of The Poem poem – John Keats poems
- No! by Thomas Hood
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
