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transcribed into Charlie's notebook
Dec. 26th, 2004 11:34 amLXXVII
Never, forever . . . they do not concern me. Victory
leaves a vanishing footprint in the sand.
I live a bedeviled man, disposed, like any other,
to cherish my human affinities. Whoever you are, I love you.
The peddling and plaiting of thorns is not my concern, and many know
this. I am no weaver of bloody crowns. I fought with the frivolous
and the tide of my spirit runs full; and in sober earnest,
my detractors are paid in full with a volley of doves.
Never is no part of me; because I am I with
a difference: was, and will always be so; and I speak
for the pureness of things in the name of my love's metamorphoses.
Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.
I love you. I kiss happiness into your lips. Let us
gather up sticks for a fire. Let us kindle a fire on the mountains.
--Pablo Neruda
Never, forever . . . they do not concern me. Victory
leaves a vanishing footprint in the sand.
I live a bedeviled man, disposed, like any other,
to cherish my human affinities. Whoever you are, I love you.
The peddling and plaiting of thorns is not my concern, and many know
this. I am no weaver of bloody crowns. I fought with the frivolous
and the tide of my spirit runs full; and in sober earnest,
my detractors are paid in full with a volley of doves.
Never is no part of me; because I am I with
a difference: was, and will always be so; and I speak
for the pureness of things in the name of my love's metamorphoses.
Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.
I love you. I kiss happiness into your lips. Let us
gather up sticks for a fire. Let us kindle a fire on the mountains.
--Pablo Neruda
