So hungry-sensitive that he
craves day and night the pap of praise,
he'll ease his gripes or fingerpaint
in heartsblood on a public page.
The ordinary world must be
altered to circumvent his rage.
He'll tell, with stylish Angst of course,
the inmost secrets of our bed.
Words are far worse than drugs; there is
no hope of surfeit or remorse.
The world lies wide, and warm. No kiss,
no child, no prayer will keep him here.
I'll wash the floors. He'll watch the stars.
I'll salt his life with common sense.
He'll suck my sap and vigour down
the crude mouth of his private hell.
Visions have no equivalents.
He'll die of drink and candy bars.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Dichterliebe by Gwen Harwood )
- You Don't Have To Go, Matthias Pantaleon
- Word by Word, J Sheba Anandhi
- Reborn, Asavri Dhillon
- Health is Wealth, J Sheba Anandhi
- Little Mind, J Sheba Anandhi
- Spark in the Dark Park, J Sheba Anandhi
- Memories, J Sheba Anandhi
- Change is Inevitable, J Sheba Anandhi
- Competition, J Sheba Anandhi
- One Pair of Eyes, J Sheba Anandhi
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- As I Grew Older, Langston Hughes
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
- Heather Burns
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)