沙与沫 第三章（4）

    poetry is not an opinion expressed. it is a song that rises from a bleeding  mouth.

    e of their timelessness.

    a poet is a dethroned king sitting among the ashes of his palace trying to fashion an image out of the ashes.

    poetry is a deal of joy and pain and s of his heart.

    once i said to a poet, “, “yes, death is alue,and more in my desire than in my hand.”

    if you sing of beauty though alone in the heart of the desert you s in the mind.

    if  in his mind, then in truth he ; inspiration  lullabies to our children that  is al stone to poetry.

    a great singer is he s our silences.

    ho if your mouth is filled  if it is filled old?

    they say the nightingale pierces his bosom s his love song.

    so do ?

    genius is but a robin’s song at the beginning of a slo.

    even the most ed spirit cannot escape physical necessity.

    a madman is not less a musician than you or myself; only the instrument on  that lies silent in the heart of a mother sings upon the lips of her child.

    no longing remains unfulfilled.

    i have never agreed rogle of soul and body save in the minds of those s, even in the eyes that are blind to beauty.

    .

    so you your beloved.

    the devil died the very day you o through hell to meet an angel.

    many a ination,and the other is not yet born.</p>

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