I enjoy writing poems. In a poem, like at a public rally, tempers boil, screams burst open
the form, and the emotions wave a huge red banner.
A poem will not submit to censorship, it mocks the helpless angels wringing their silken
wings, it challenges the god and scorns its creator. Poems are like the elements.
0, working class – I prayed – who wave a huge red banner, o mighty class, o brave
class, o rallying lover, dark-feathered fowl, my element, come, we’ll bury the god under a
gooseberry bush and dance a green dance on his fresh grave!
Just make sure that angel does not eavesdrop and reveal our plot ahead of time…
I distrust purple. In Egypt, it was the color of mourning.
Cleopatra wore it
after the emperor’s death
before she died
herself.
I love the red!
(Halina Poswiatowska)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, God Poems, Sadness Poems, Time Poems, Literature Poems, Anger Poems, Angels Poems, Liberty & Freedom Poems, Poetry Poems, Emotions Poems, Mourning PoemsBased on Keywords: gooseberry, eavesdrop, dark-feathered