Sunday, August 11, 2013

You cannot own what I own:
such singular joys,
you ignorant boys.
They are mine, and mine alone

You cannot know what I know:
the mind, formed like pearls,
presumptuous girls,
needs stimulation to grow.

You cannot see what I see:
your eyes will turn blind
and doubts cloud your mind,
if you watch the world with me.

You cannot love what I love:
this summit of space,
this depth of discrace,
the world, below and avove.

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