November 23 2009
… … … the true love is difficult to find for all … ….
You stop the watches, cut the threads of the telephone and present a bone to the dog, in order that it does not bark.
Face silence the piano, it accuse the resonant drums, which the coffin puts forward, that the afflicted friends come.
You leave the aircraft to circle in the sky and they write the hateful message: he has died.
You equip of crepe the white neck of the pigeons and do that the urban watchful one puts long black gloves on.
He was my North, it was my South, it was the East and the West, my days of work, my days of holiday, it was the midday, the midnight, my music, my words.
I was believing that the love could last for ever.
Well, it was an illusion.
Dimmed all the stars, because nobody wants them any more.
You throw away the moon, drawn down the sun, emptied the oceans and knock the trees down.
Because this moment nothing will serve any more to anything.
Wystan Auden
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