Wednesday, February 11, 2015

after Ingmar Bergman

After Ingmar Bergman And now that it is dawn And the sun will soon come over the mountain My wife’s warmth keeps me warm My screams of fear is now a murmur She dries spittle from my beard and speaks softly Soon she will get up and make coffee I let the aroma envelope me The terror of the night and death subsides and I will try to be kind and Believe in a god that will lift me up to his heaven And let me live forever. But who will publish my poetry collections?

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