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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
Opening a new collection of poems, the reader thus discovers a new world, a new thought, a new form. Rereading the classics, a person receives a magnificent aesthetic pleasure, which doesn’t disappear with the slamming of the book, but accompanies him for a very long time like a Muse. And it isn’t at all necessary to be a poet in order for the Muse to visit you. It is enough to pick up a volume, inside of which is Poetry. Be with us on our website.

Read books online » Poetry » Artists' Centre by Tom (mystery books to read TXT) 📖

Book online «Artists' Centre by Tom (mystery books to read TXT) 📖». Author Tom



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keys.

Brought at last to Dachau,
because we were twins
because our hair was red,
because we were "untermenschen"
because we were Jews;
we piqued the Nazi curiosity
we made amusing subjects
for the doctors' experiments.


***

I am Nathan.
I was here,
stacked like cordwood
waiting for fire.

My life was dirt
beneath the Nazi boots.
Fire transformed the last of sinew and skin
to ashes.
The grinding wheel of years made me dust.

Dust, with all the others.

I am Nathan,
I am here.
I am dust.
Dust on your shoes you will carry away;
dust you breathe
-even as you try to hold your breath
my dust with the dust of millions coats your lungs,
seeps in your veins
without remedy.

I will be here
-always.
I will be with you
-always.


Imprint

Publication Date: 11-02-2009

All Rights Reserved

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