Poetry Is A Destructive Force Poem by Wallace Stevens
Poetry Is A Destructive Force
That's what misery is,
Nothing to have at heart.
It is to have or nothing.
It is a thing to have,
A lion, an ox in his breast,
To feel it breathing there.
Corazon, stout dog,
Young ox, bow-legged bear,
He tastes its blood, not spit.
He is like a man
In the body of a violent beast
Its muscles are his own...
The lion sleeps in the sun.
Its nose is on its paws.
It can kill a man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/16/2024 9:38:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
