02:40 

кайндхарт
in you!
17.12.2016 в 23:42
Пишет desenrascanco:

Пишет desenrascanco:
17.12.2016 в 22:40


плюсую к Do not go gentle into that good night


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There are no happy endings.
Endings are the saddest part,
So just give me a happy middle
And a very happy start.

Shel Silverstein


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ссылкой, чтобы в коммент влезло - youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/you-are-jeff...


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ссылкой, чтобы курсив не выделять вручную - words-end-here.livejournal.com/35121.html

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There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask 'What if I fall?'
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?

Erin Hanson


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The Quiet World
BY JEFFREY MCDANIEL

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somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

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e.e. cummings


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Spencer Madsen


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и обожаю авторов с тумбы


first. he touches you and you light on fire. your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. the burns don’t show, but it’s hard to breathe with ash in your lungs. it’s so hard to breathe. you’re suffocating daily.
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горю от этой леди cardiamachina.co.vu/tagged/My-Poetry
например


May I hand you my heart
And will you receive it with reverence
Like I’ve given to you the wholeness of the earth?

Will you be breathless as I am
Hand atop hand,
As I gently pour, into the lines of your palms:

1000 nights of restless sleep
500 shades of different colored skies
100 heart beats per solid minute
And 1 of the many breaths
You have unwittingly taken from my lungs.

This is a profession of numbers
A quantification of affection,
And in attempt for normalcy, I ask:

– Will you marry me? Poetic Proposals # 1, n.t.

и

We bless the craters of the moon with names,
Yet we are not allowed to honor
The marks on our body.

And so, I sanctify my own indentations:
Abenezra, the flare of red across my forehead
Kastner, the remnants of wounds on my knees
Humboldt, the lines of my body stretching and growing,
Bohr–the faded scars on my wrist.

There is no room here
For your footsteps,
Or your flags.

I claim my own landscape.

– Houston, we have a problem: she loves her own body. I repeat: she loves her own body! n.t.

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