este deseo tan impuro de ser especial...
una perfeccion dislocada


podria encontrar la felicidad en un espejo quebrado
sin ver...sin sentir


es un dolor tan vacio que adormece
puedes olvidar como odiar..como amar...
pero nunca como sufrir
porque es lo unico que tienes

lo unico que eres

W. H. Auden : Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut of the telephone,
prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the with necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

dedicated to a lost friend