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broken heart poem

doux et fort
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?
avec la joie et la merveille
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
par le rivage, par la mer
splendor doux
hauts murs et énorme
regarder là-bas
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement

 



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