poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

In these darkened rooms, where I spend
oppresive days, I pace to and fro
to find the windows. -- When a window
opens, it will be a consolation. --
But the windows cannot be found, or I cannot
find them. And maybe it is best that I do not find them.
Maybe the light will be a new tyranny.
Who knows what new things it will reveal.

Added: 9 Jan 2002 | Last Read: 19 Nov 2008 12:45 PM | Viewed: 1676 times

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