Anton K Poems

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There are morning birds singing their
fragmentary tunes in honey-sweet
tones outside my window. The dim
blue light stumbles in, like an old blind man,

Song Of A Suburban Resident

The weekend wakes without a yawn
as someone, somewhere, mows a lawn.
The spaniel in the yard next door
has barked at nothing since the dawn.

The Death Of Hope

It's quiet now.
The candle's out and
every silver lining has a cloud.
The flower's been plucked and

Why I Chose Not To Kill Myself

I stare at the stars, and the bee-like
clockwork of the ever-busy city,
and they gaze back in placid hostility,
telling me two things - telling

Nocturne 1

Floating in a silver sea;
The sparkling waves shift silently
Beneath the gaze of shining stars
And silken clouds that clad the moon.

Nocturne 2

Strolling over sensual sands
In melancholy Moonlight's hands,
And swooning under inky skies.
The salty scent of sighing waves,

Nocturne 3

Evening is ending its sorrowful song;
The light retreats, as if in the wrong
And the sick orange sunset sinks into night.
The darkness as warm as a feverish brow


The winter-cold, stone-like sound of the choir
is echoing in the cathedral. I hear the
petal-soft voices rise and fall like the
tide on the shores of Eden. I look

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