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suicide poetry

tan perdido
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
serene de la tarde y brillante verdes
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio
él vino tomarme por la mano
en su vuelo
la luna de levantamiento ha ocultado las estrellas
en todas las cosas no habladas de
suavemente llorando
si era muy seguro

 



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