Man's excellences: turning red and turning pale in front of the instinct of self-preservative.
So as to unveil a poem in its metaphysical matrix we need (how else could it be?) the entire cultural universe that transcendentally contains us.
A sweet sound is framing – as the liquor of an evening,
anxious hearts – a sundown of springs:
are watching me into deepness, overwhelmed as a pain –
infinite, with an eye in soul and with another in quietness...
`this night – without night, with white walls, of lime –
we are both climbing up, secretly, in the osuary`s time(...)
„God does not play dice” –
I do not take God’s ways in vain,
I only dream with an inert body-infinite
in the gardens
of the sleep(...),
And the waves of my verse
don quixote-like – charismatic
Are ▫ in an absurd way : ghostly
curves or chords of segments,
written in a
Tremble touched by the nature`s autumnal white-frost –
wild wasteness by latent energies…
seed sprung into thinking origin –
a clay`s illusion through passionate moments.
It`s the thought
a light faster
or unreliable fire –
through which it`s shown
life in tongue of pendulum clock,
and also of tree`s-tree,
the eternity fill out
and the m a n
the sensitive one –
into the Human Being.
If only I pass into nothingness
Should turn up in my memory wheat grain crops,
blonde waves inspire me everlasting wavings,
the bird`s song : the field – a big dissoluteness,
the days` south secretly between us does sift it(...)
Should I look into the thought`s depth : a river
which lightens Undeath – spend my years,
and I have your face like the seaside of the wheat ears:
an icon, that it steals my everything – time!
If only I pass into nothingness,
I will remember you for ever
rich soil for love –
blonde dreamings will sift you –
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