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(…)

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you

Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,

The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed

With a hollow rumbling of wings, with a movement of dark-

ness on darkness, (…)

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without

love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; (…)

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thoughts;

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the

dancing.

 

Excerpt from Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot

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In the lonely depth

In the sinking sun

With a silent movement

Moth wings against the night

A shadow falls like a dry leaf

And the earth sighs

A kiss of death on her lips

Shrouded mirrors beg for light

Lost images scratched on silver

With a silent movement

The end announces a new beginning.

 

©aother

800px-Goya-Guerra_(16)

This is but a murmur

A voice drowning in a cacophony of shrieks

Amid species bent on self-destruction

Imploding with hatred

This is pathology

Not politics

There is no cure

The virus is spreading

The lie

Like a house of cards

Beyond proportions

Who will say they’re sorry?

Hope is but a word

In this world infected

With death

No antidote

And no time to find one

Divinity debunked

While extolled

That’s for the entranced.

For the awake

And the curious

There is no salvation.

‘Should I stay or should I go?’

 

Los_desastres_de_la_guerra,_Plato_3_-_Lo_mismo

Art: Francisco Goya

 

 

I am fishing for help.

I am casting for salvation.

I am crying out for assistance.

I am sinking.

Help me.

Why?

Why when you are sinking too.

Why?

A word floats in….

It floats in silently…

It touches me…

It touches you…

Can’t you feel it?

It’s love.

Love.

Love.

And then…

The End.

Love eternal.

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