Szépirodalom / Versek (831 katt) glittermoon

We're closed in here
in this world.
You want to say something new
and still you
have only words used billion times before
with chewed and spat out facts and happenings
that lay behind them.
It's just like a green house
that protects and yet it hinders--
something's trapped in here
once and that thought is polarized now to billiards
of splinters of thought-descendants or fragments.
And we're so miserably and desperately try to
reach out our hands for something that we
don't know what it is,
and still we can catch only
that we
already know

I was always afraid and anxious,
I was always too frustrated by
something I whished to tell.
That somebody has never told
that somebody has never said.
And still this whish is
not new at all:
every artist wanted to make
something unmade before.
And now I see why you feel so secure,
so calm that I have never been
because you know so very well
that nothing new will born here,
nothing unknown will attack.
This is a comfort that I try to
enjoy, that I try to use to calm me down,
but no, no, no, I can't deny that I'm a rebel.
And I aspire to be what I won't be ever.

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