No Hand Or Word
Good-by, my dear, good-by.
Friend, you are sticking in my breast.
The promised destinies are weaving
the thread from parting to a meeting.
Good-by, my dear, no hand or word,
Do not be sad, don’t cloud your brow,
To die — in life is nothing new,
But nor is new, of course — to live.
Sergei Yesenin : The Last Poem ( written in blood before self-ending )
richard age 11
said,
June 27th, 2011 at 7:38 pm
i fly alone in the darkness
a surene fluent motion
silence peers in
as beauty flows through my gentle heart