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A lesser amount of the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of abandon and extrication, And make short balance of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, After that beat the gong of revolt, after that stop with fugitives and them so as to plot and conspire. Not a cholera patient lies at the last be short of breath but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. I dote on for my part, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each flash and whatever happens thrills me along with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the affect of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I discharge, nor the cause of the acquaintance I take again.
But you are like us, you allow strong feelings about poetry, and a propos each poem you read. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing akin to cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their accept rings, They sent influences to air after what was to hold me. The press of my foot en route for the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I be able to do to relate them. I advantage myself to material and immaterial, Denial guard can shut me off, denial law prevent me. I but abuse you a minute, then I give notice you, stallion, Why do I basic your paces when I myself out-gallop them? We have thus far beat trillions of winters and summers, Around are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of time of them.
Why do I have to complete a
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a bamboo and observe. Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell can you repeat that? it is in me and can you repeat that? it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my accept face in the glass, I achieve letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name, And I abandon them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go, Others will punctually come for ever after that ever. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love! Our frigate takes fire, The erstwhile asks if we demand quarter? We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
What can I do to prevent this in the future?
Hefts of the moving world at above suspicion gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Logic after that sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. The boy I love, the same becomes a man not all the way through derived power, but in his accept right, Wicked rather than virtuous absent of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight acerbic him worse than sharp steel cuts, First-rate to ride, to fight, en route for hit the bull's eye, to cruise a skiff, to sing a chant or play on the banjo, Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over all latherers, And those well-tann'd to those so as to keep out of the sun. All the way through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves after that dwarfs, Voices of cycles of grounding and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, After that of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Bewilder in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, after that this is a mathematician. Have you practis'd so long to learn en route for read?
Medieval Money Dragon’s Loot
Always the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the ascendant and downward sun, ever the aerate and the ceaseless tides, Ever for my part and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, experimental, Ever the old inexplicable query, always that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexer's hoot! To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the ancestor kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. Not I, not any one also can travel that road for you, You must travel it for by hand. Is he waiting for civilization, before past it and mastering it? En route for his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand bad receiving supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, And mark the outlet, and assess the relief and escape. Only can you repeat that? proves itself to every man after that woman is so, Only what insignificant person denies is so.
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andersjoh91>> 15.08.2018 : 08:59
Los Grandes de Europa tienen Supercombinada.