Articles liés à Broken Verses
Synopsis
There are, in this book, scattered pieces: of me, of days, of things. It is a book that contains life, but not a life proud of itself.
Within these pages live feelings that lingered in the mind after the moments passed, and the coffee cooled.
There is the love that is certain it is Love, and the passion that wished it could be sure too.
There is the sadness that stayed when I forgot to ask it to leave, and the loneliness that arrived when even sadness could no longer bear me.
Here lies all that came from what I created while I studied to write poetry. But in the end, I feel I studied myself more.
"I
I thought that storing the past in boxes
would be enough to move on.
I organized memories on shelves,
labeled pains with dates,
stacked longings in the basement.
But some boxes breathe.
Some boxes have fingers
that scratch the walls from the inside.
Some boxes open on their own
while we sleep.
And what I didn’t lock away well,
comes up from the basement,
climbing the stairs of the present."
"LVIII
I cannot be everything,
I cannot want everything,
there is no space for everything
in the small suitcase of time.
But I can be some things,
I can want some things,
I can, at least,
choose the right ones.
And if one day they ask me if it was worth it,
I hope to say yes,
because within the little that fit,
fit everything that was mine."
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Broken Verses (Paperback)
impression à la demandeVendeur : Grand Eagle Retail, Bensenville, IL, Etats-Unis
Évaluation du vendeur 5 sur 5 étoiles
Paperback. Etat : new. Paperback. There is, in this book, a crime. Inside it were abandoned dreams, feelings, and ideas of someone - all in the form of still unfinished poems. The crime, however, is simple: to give faith, hope, that one day they would be corrected and would wander around, proud of themselves - but they weren't. And never will be. They had been, until now, waiting perhaps for that gentle gaze that sometimes a father grants his children - a gaze that supports them in what they could become. But no. It won't be today, nor tomorrow. I now confirm: never. This book is, then, an unfair decision. Unfair to them. And, let's be honest, cowardly on my part. It's a lazy and selfish attempt to empty my mind, to free myself from the burden of looking at a folder and thinking about the things I never finished. All that remains for them, from now on, is this tomb of pages. And within it they will be seen, read, remembered - but always like this: incomplete. Like children who, in the eyes of their own father, could have been more - but were not. Not their fault. Never was. Only mine. "XLVI I almost called you, but walked away.And time has stolenwhat's not here today. At the corner of never, we passed so near, That only the distanceremained sincere. And now, perhaps, our stories will define: Two strangers who, almost, found another verse to rhyme." "LVIII I cannot be everything, I cannot want everything, there is no space for everythingin the small suitcase of time. But I can be some things, I can want some things, I can, at least, choose the right ones. And if one day they ask me if it was worth it, I hope to say yes, because within the little that fit, fit everything that was mine." This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798288396649
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Broken Verses
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Broken Verses
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Broken Verses
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PAP. Etat : New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000. N° de réf. du vendeur L2-9798288396649
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Broken Verses (Paperback)
impression à la demandeVendeur : CitiRetail, Stevenage, Royaume-Uni
Évaluation du vendeur 5 sur 5 étoiles
Paperback. Etat : new. Paperback. There is, in this book, a crime. Inside it were abandoned dreams, feelings, and ideas of someone - all in the form of still unfinished poems. The crime, however, is simple: to give faith, hope, that one day they would be corrected and would wander around, proud of themselves - but they weren't. And never will be. They had been, until now, waiting perhaps for that gentle gaze that sometimes a father grants his children - a gaze that supports them in what they could become. But no. It won't be today, nor tomorrow. I now confirm: never. This book is, then, an unfair decision. Unfair to them. And, let's be honest, cowardly on my part. It's a lazy and selfish attempt to empty my mind, to free myself from the burden of looking at a folder and thinking about the things I never finished. All that remains for them, from now on, is this tomb of pages. And within it they will be seen, read, remembered - but always like this: incomplete. Like children who, in the eyes of their own father, could have been more - but were not. Not their fault. Never was. Only mine. "XLVI I almost called you, but walked away.And time has stolenwhat's not here today. At the corner of never, we passed so near, That only the distanceremained sincere. And now, perhaps, our stories will define: Two strangers who, almost, found another verse to rhyme." "LVIII I cannot be everything, I cannot want everything, there is no space for everythingin the small suitcase of time. But I can be some things, I can want some things, I can, at least, choose the right ones. And if one day they ask me if it was worth it, I hope to say yes, because within the little that fit, fit everything that was mine." This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our UK warehouse or from our Australian or US warehouses, depending on stock availability. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798288396649
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Taschenbuch. Etat : Neu. Neuware - There is, in this book, a crime. Inside it were abandoned dreams, feelings, and ideas of someone - all in the form of still unfinished poems. The crime, however, is simple: to give faith, hope, that one day they would be corrected and would wander around, proud of themselves - but they weren't. And never will be. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798288396649
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