Dietre Henrich Abendroth (sonataind) wrote in repose, @ 2019-01-20 13:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | *forum, dietre abendroth, hugh christian, lear laufey, mars mayer, marta flores, vaughn thomas |
public.
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.
- Gerard Manley Hopkins
It has been a month since the last poem, so here I am again. Twenty days into the new year and I'm not sure what to make of it. Of course, it is too early to tell.
If someone has a recommendation for a horror movie, preferably playing at the theatre, I would appreciate it.