Peter Russell

(1921-2003 / Bristol)

Night The Third


The hours torment me.
I do not want anything -
Money, a lover's lips, fame,
Beauty for me, a husband -
It is all the same.
A house over my head
Is a house to die in.
Do not pray for me, mother -
Till you wish me dead.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 20, 2014

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

MANUELA'S POEMS

Every night for nine nights Manuela appeared to me in a dream, and each night she spoke a poem to me. I had never seen her before and I have no idea who she was. - P.R.

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