We are all out of joint...
As I dream of you, my love,
you come to me in strange manifestations.
I have even dreamt about your mother,
although I did only meet her once.
The care is infinite between us,
not just for ourselves but for our families,
no matter how dispersed and shattered
they are in all directions of the world
with usually aborted lives
which they claim all the same to be successes,
while we are too down to earth for self-deception; –
but let all those tragedies and losses be –
whose life is not a perfectly aborted failure,
viewed objectively? We all end worse
than even how we started with a naked scream,
and if we're lucky we'll find love at least
somewhere between, while the ultimate journey's end
is always a most well deserved release
from all the things that always did go wrong,
while we are free at least from the responsibility
of trying to at least set something right...
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2009-06-25 at 19:48
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