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Last night

Last night my friend and I

died a little death, I thought

it would be glorious, it was not;

strange to feel sadness sharp,

like a dagger, I thought its pain

akin to blunt trauma;

there were no wrongs to right, nor

law to judge, and though a little death,

its wound was still fatal;

for without strike, stab or blow,

it managed to kill love itself.*

*the ability to love

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I find this too vulnerable, in a personal and universal sense, to warrant comment.


I think this is becoming one of my favourite poems. Thank you Nige.


Unknown member
Jan 15

Oooh I like that. - Le petit mort - Great stuff

Nigel Smith
Nigel Smith
Jan 15
Replying to

Thank you Martin, desire or true love? That is so very simplistic to me, something to ponder and debate into the wee hours I think..

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