Author Topic: A diary  (Read 350 times)

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Sublime

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on: May 28, 2020, 07:02:13 PM
Morning: a cup of tea, black; bread; some grapes.
Evening: a cup of tea, black, with honey; bread; a slice of ham.
Night: a splash of whisky.
Decided to write a letter to Sothilde; did so in the afternoon; gave it to a doorkeeper for delivery.
Anticipate a long wait before a reply; that's fine, however.
Can't help but feel alone in this place.
Inspired to paint again; but should let the impulse build for a time.
Took a walk around 100 again; my awakening seems like only yesterday.
Yesterday; what a peculiar thing.




Sublime

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on: June 10, 2020, 06:12:10 AM
BRING ME, cried he:
The boys who kindled up the sun.
The girls who taught the wind to run.
The men who ordered the earth to be.
And mothers' tears to fill the sea.

BRING ME, cried he:
Moulders of the mountains high.
Weavers of the bright blue sky.
Chisellesers of the forest crowds.
And churners of the mighty clouds.

BRING ME, cried he:
The brewers of the rivers sweet.
The sounders of the waves' retreat.
The old hands that broke the sands.
And border guards from endless lands.

BRING ME, cried he:
The shepherds of all creatures known.
The gardeners of all that's sown.
The folk who made up all that's said.
And dreamers drawn from every bed.

BRING ME, cried he:
The singers of the clear cold air.
The growers of the hills' fine hair.
The foragers of stars for night.
And lonely architects of light.



Sublime

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on: June 10, 2020, 01:51:58 PM
BRING ME, cried he:
The petals of forgotten flowers.
The minutes of expired hours.
Reflections of a mirror broken.
And echoes of a word unspoken.



Sublime

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on: June 11, 2020, 03:25:51 AM
BRING ME, cried he:
Those who dredge the Kingly garden.
Those who seek a royal pardon.
Those who toil with hands and spades.
And those who dance and play with shades.



Sublime

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on: June 12, 2020, 04:01:31 AM
BRING ME, cried he:
Knowers of the secret truth.
Seekers of the hidden sooth.
Listeners to silent songs.
And righters of the ancient wrongs.



Sublime

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on: June 18, 2020, 05:23:44 AM
BRING ME, cried he:
Tillers of the blood-red earth.
Midwives of a crimson birth.
Watchers of the world's decay.
And priests to keep its death at bay.



Sublime

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on: June 20, 2020, 04:52:25 AM
BRING ME, cried he:
Soldiers for a needless war.
Scholars of invented lore.
Noblemen of nameless lines.
And poets to write senseless rhymes.



Sublime

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on: July 03, 2020, 11:13:23 PM
BRING ME, cried he:
Wine to wash down dusty air.
Salted food lest I despair.
Pipeweed, junksnuff, anything.
And keys with which to leave this ring.



Sublime

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on: July 13, 2020, 01:40:27 AM
BRING ME, cried he:
A little wizard, bottled up.
A sorcerer's blood in jeweled cup.
A scroll to cast a wondrous spell.
And news from Heaven and from Hell.



Sublime

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on: July 31, 2020, 12:19:38 AM
Is it not sublime that this player,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his design? And all for pleasure.