1
The sky won’t be blue anymore
The water will turn red like a vociferous silence
Stars will explode and give birth to a new galaxy
The grass will start to grow back
You are so beautiful in decay that everyone is waiting for your death
The night is already tiptoeing towards you
The main thing is to die beautifully and smile at a stranger with the face of death
The main thing is to die
2
Nobody knows how loneliness turns into a wheel burning in bony windows
Everyone knows how quiet bones are silent in the sky at night
What are we trying to forget?
Who are we trying to remember?
3
Do not sing
Do not say
Do not listen
Don’t look
Don’t breathe
I died inside the sadness of your belly
“I think books are like people, in the sense that they’ll turn up in your life when you need them most.”
Emma Thompson
“Words, you are my shield. Words, you are my song.”
Abigail George
“To create is to live twice.”
The sea is lonely. Just a wilderness. My potential is lonely. Just a wasteland until it is taken up by the extremes of goals, plans and execution. The chair is lonely until somebody sits in it, taking up space in this room. Even the heat is lonely until it hears the laughter of children and gazes upon their happiness. Every girl needs a guy, they need to fall in love, get married, set up house and start a family or else they will be lonely. What is this life, truly, what is this life but to get away from the loneliness, but to get away from the solitude? The ordinary man, woman and child find themselves vulnerable in solitude but it is there that the poet truly exists. It is only in solitude that the poet can write, can find meaning and purpose. It is the poem, it is the poetry that is created in solitude. How beautiful this poems are, how heartbreaking, how bewildering, how earth-shattering.
“To create is to live twice.”
Albert Camus
Sorry, I forgot to quote Albert Camus. What do poets offer the world? Their brokenness, their wounds, their hurt, their heartbreak, their loneliness. Downtrodden and dejected, alongside the working classes, the poet works their fingers to the bone, creating, living with the perception of dual personalities inside of them, or living vicariously through other people that they love, admire, cherish or treasure. What a truly extraordinary way to live.