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Post time 2014-7-21 18:17:16 |Display all floors
This post was edited by PoetChao at 2014-7-21 18:19

For Emily Dickinson

A lonely woman in a beautiful prison.

The letter that kills
stilled a window of imagery
where introversion was philosophy
and the elements of the universe.

Alas! No essence--no oil--no lamp!

Born in a wrong time, poor virgin
you did not meet the bridegroom.
A life wrung, screwed up with hyphens-
bones, lined up like fences.

Poesies sloping the historical carriage.

For Stephen Crane

He spent his life eating of his heart
with the red badge of courage
in the desert

We watch his works on the ppt
in the air-conditioned classroom
He has been interpreted by lecturers
who become professors
by students who turn into teachers
without any cease
all over the earth

I decide to sneak out of the voices
to hide myself on the high
waiting for the pillar of the cloud

For Bertrand Russel

The night woke up with a window, eyeing me with calm.

I sat by my bed, mute and muffled,
pleaing in heart for the living water
to well up and gush out of the spring.

A voice burst into being, speaking to Bertrand,
Philosophy takes captive even if
clothed in the term of charity and love.
Wisdom is the truth. And the truth is spirit.
There allows no confusion. Now it cries aloud
by the gate of a century, but ears have been lent
to ilogical reality, unfurling irrational event.

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Post time 2014-7-28 19:57:04 |Display all floors

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