the injustice of work
It was the stewardship
Poetry came, my last and firm refuge.
The night I was silent, I suffered.
Dust, mold I saw myself in rave,
Moving, withering petals,
A book that read.
It was stewardship.
Oh pain, absurd winter!
When the rare reality shone,
From the top of the hill, I saw the world
And all the insanity that went bankrupt.
Nostalgia, my last pride
Against echoes of a frozen past.
My life is gone, as the life that is in everything,
Led to a beautiful greenish grass.
If, sometimes in this life, I get in the way,
It's because of the injustice of work.
Poetry came, my last and firm refuge.
The night I was silent, I suffered.
Dust, mold I saw myself in rave,
Moving, withering petals,
A book that read.
It was stewardship.
Oh pain, absurd winter!
When the rare reality shone,
From the top of the hill, I saw the world
And all the insanity that went bankrupt.
Nostalgia, my last pride
Against echoes of a frozen past.
My life is gone, as the life that is in everything,
Led to a beautiful greenish grass.
If, sometimes in this life, I get in the way,
It's because of the injustice of work.
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