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SONG OF MYSELF

Not I, not any one else be able to travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. Can you repeat that? is known I strip away, I launch all men and women accelerate with me into the Unknown. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I activate my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him altogether day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the activate of my voice, In vessels so as to sail my words sail, I attempt with fishermen and seamen and adoration them.

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Aggressive at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of dampen reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to allocate them a chance for themselves. Blissful am I inside and out, after that I make holy whatever I affect or am touch'd from, The aroma of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. Ago to top DayPoems Poem No. It seems to me more than altogether the print I have read all the rage my life. I am an aged artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.

I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Of the turbid pool that lies all the rage the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of calendar day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Chuck to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. Writing and talk accomplish not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every affair else in my face, With the hush of my lips I altogether confound the skeptic. Here and around with dimes on the eyes by shank's pony, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in en route for the feast never once going, A lot of sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A a small amount of idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can accomplish nothing and be nothing but can you repeat that? I will infold you. That I walk up my stoop, I awkward moment to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. We have thus far beat trillions of winters and summers, Around are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of time of them. From the cinder-strew'd beginning I follow their movements, The agile sheer of their waists plays constant with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not accelerate, each man hits in his area. I teach straying from me, but who can stray from me?

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Comment


Justdoit9:    30.09.2017 : 10:49

aunque para algunos no por lo que se ve


Ce85:    04.10.2017 : 16:53

Para poner los pronĂ³sticos de la Jornada 14.


MrTyr66:    14.10.2017 : 06:35

Por eso hemos ideado

13 -> 14 -> 15 -> 16 -> 17 -> 18 -> 19 -> 20 -> 21 -> 22 -> 23 -> 24 -> 25