The Lost - Poem by Instalasi Sastra
Hate them-hate them,
To their intellectual vanity;
Where their tune condemn,
Down fall into bestiality.
Thy look pale into my eyes,
Filth by my physical boon;
Suddenly all the plants died,
Under the cold of winter moon.
Still I see sparkles no more,
And statue myself upon the shore;
In peaceful loneliness I vows,
In peaceful loneliness I vows.
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