I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wing;
that I am the intense shadows of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
Gacela Of The Dark Death
Federico Garca-a Lorca
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Poem topics: dark, friend, moon, wing, earth, grass, small, hear, cover, hard, gold, scorpion, century, minute, live, serpent, intense, child, heart, water, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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Liam McDonnell: There is a mystical air to the youthful feelings of Lorca
Always returning to the cool apple that is to become the fruit of choice for the woman's lips the woman to be the future ship of humanity
The longing for to be part in the essence of life is so palpable
Strike a blow for humanity but it is to be on the high seas not in the husbandry of te woman.
A drone a protector of the flock perhaps in an heroic fashion.
The spirit being so strong as to transcend the mundane of death and purification perhaps.
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