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i'm turning to my verses

& my heart is closing like a fist.

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Name:
M.
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The journal entries here will be my (acreofbones) favourite poetry findings that are both Classic and Modern. I post when I can, as often as I can, or as often as I find poems that I fancy.

Feel free to watch this community to get poem updates on your 'Friends Page'. Membership is closed, and posting here is also closed.

CSS courtesy of minty_peach.

Is it possible that we are so twisted
there is no salvation for any of us,
and that ideas have become wingless
in an age of winged rockets?

Is it possible that a crippled birch,
bending over to the last river,
will see the last man
in its boiling water?

Is it possible there’ll be no Big Ben,
Saint Basil’s, or Notre Dame
and that neutron foam will gush
over our final steps?

But that planet, cherry trees,
birds, and children will perish,
I don’t believe. This disbelief
is my final faith.


- y. yevtushenko.

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