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Andrej Grampovcan Poems
Solitude maybe is only necessary fire, that you final catch sight of your soul within true mirror, that corner becomes stair, that you show their youthful face on her,
She is wanton, confident, shuddering present caught in restless horizons without memory slaughtered to the trunk of a land, without trace of shadows on roads of evil.
By night, when sleep is out of a room, thoughts of restless soul are becoming ways words in song, as he follows redly they are howling with closed fists in snow.
Maybe You believe in
You believe in temple of time maybe still easily and to agglutinated broken potsherds of a jug, that they breathe one love, right that love, that were taking her from her hands once
Trees Are Bowing To Wind,
they breathe more slowly, rarer, autumn is here and birds flew already long ago on south. Sound of a day is rare and when he falls on other, he slips just alone among fingers.
You turn on the radio button of my heart
You turn on the radio button of my heart, Love music still plays and you Bujas with my thoughts, at night you dream of braided hair and do not let
He Didn't Get Up With The Left Leg Today
words already were written down with the right hand, will Muse maybe fall asleep of sweetness in a head? But one crazy is from slaughterhouse returned,
It Is Night, Everything Already Sleeps
It is night, everything already sleeps. And you go on the mountain towards stars, that you catch the fantasy in your fist. He is thinking of paper in voices with inspiration,
Comments about Andrej Grampovcan
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Solitude maybe is only necessary fire,
that you final catch sight of your soul within true mirror,
that corner becomes stair,
that you show their youthful face on her,
their limitless freedom,
that you divide the same thoughts in her.
And as her all rampant,
your spirit grows
and he flirts with art.
And you know alone well,
that it is door of all of those houses,
where didn't invite forward closed,
solitude is waiting for you always,
as a faithful friend,
that you like, that you whisper her something beautifulwhen your thoughts stir up and ...