the laughter just eases out

we live in a capsule

time slows down

I breathe you in and out

People could be conquered,

galaxies lost,

cities ploughed,

we’ll still be here smiling that damned smile

like we’ve got a secret

and have had one for awhile

hurt piece done

the bad blood boiled, gone

together we fit

puzzle pieces

or dark chocolate in reeses




The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own—but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
–Czeslaw Milosz (Translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Pinsky)