Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself —
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Юлия Друнина – Елка
- Владимир Маяковский – Счастье искусств
- Savour Your Life by Ronald G. Auguste
- Paradise Lost: Book 05 poem – John Milton poems
- innocence.html
- The Milk-Maid O’ The Farm by William Barnes
- Вера Звягинцева – На смерть Есенина
- The Wistful Lady by Thomas Hardy
- On The Cliffs Newport
- Old Memory by William Butler Yeats
- Wayside Flowers by William Allingham
- Robert Burns: On Tam The Chapman:
- Dear Bhikkhu A Eulogy
- Юрий Коринец – О счастье
- Анатолий Жигулин – Невыразимы сладкой тишью
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).