To Die or Not To Die, this is not the question, volume 2 For he who lives more lives than one, more deaths than one must die. I needed a repository for all of my last writes, “last” being undefined and thus I preferred to have them all in one place, resulting finally in this heterogeneous, eclectic and directionless amassment. Because, see, this twitch in my hand forcing words to be laid down on paper, doesn’t stop. Some kind of malady.
(extracted from the complete [thick] book)
(return here from poems using only the "back" button)
~Oscar Fingal O'Fflahertie Wills Wilde
Thus if I so happen to go unexpectedly, it will be at most one book left incomplete. The “last” book. This one.
PS1. Many of these deal with death. Kind of comes... naturally.
PS2. Never thought this will be so... lengthy. I probably live too long or write too much. Or both. Sorry!
PS3. For convenience, I decided to split this last book in volumes, three for now. This is volume 2.
©anonymouslast Spell Spiel
©anonymouslast (Another) Chance Encounter
©anonymouslast Bedtime Story
©anonymouslast That Time of the Year
©anonymouslast Silent Usurpers
©anonymouslast Visit, again
©anonymouslast Debt Collector
©anonymouslast Of Age, the shortie
©anonymouslast Re-faithing, so to say
©anonymouslast Bitter? Me?
©anonymouslast Memorial Day
©anonymouslast Love Eternal
©anonymouslast Woman, anonymous
©anonymouslast Beyond... maybe, probably?
©anonymouslast The house that wanted to run away from its ghosts
©anonymouslast Once, two
©anonymouslast Once, three
©anonymouslast Opus Corpus Duo-s in Oh Major and Choral
©anonymouslast Did we do it?
©anonymouslast Human Spark
©anonymouslast The Last?
©anonymouslast Snippets, two
©anonymouslast Sorry, two
©anonymouslast Take me to your leader – macabre variations
©anonymouslast My right to rhyme
©anonymouslast JLL died today
©anonymouslast Unholy Ruminations
©anonymouslast I found something wonderful about poetry, en passant
©anonymouslast Trying to get it back
©anonymouslast Spoiler: the crudest poem I’ve ever written. Don’t . . .
©anonymouslast Sunflower, two
©anonymouslast Wash, two
©anonymouslast Hot chocolate
©anonymouslast Halloween, kind of
©anonymouslast Death of Innocence
©anonymouslast Life, thoughts
©anonymouslast Moment. Momentary.
©anonymouslast I am allowed my moment of dream, aren’t I?
©anonymouslast Turning Point
©anonymouslast 06:06 AM
©anonymouslast Around Adam and Eve
©anonymouslast Old Goat
©anonymouslast A Busy Day
©anonymouslast Which I know it is not.
©anonymouslast And I but a fly.
©anonymouslast Sack twenty-two
©anonymouslast A dummy’s ‘How To’ guide for the dummiest . . .
©anonymouslast ad hoc
©anonymouslast a short lived propitious moment
©anonymouslast The soft sounds of love.
©anonymouslast Sleepless... helpless maybe?...
©anonymouslast The no sounds of nothing.
©anonymouslast Old age is the age of ugly
©anonymouslast killing me
anonymouslast is a pseudonym for yossi faybish
For he who lives more lives than one, more deaths than one must die.
I needed a repository for all of my last writes, “last” being undefined and thus I preferred to have them all in one place, resulting finally in this heterogeneous, eclectic and directionless amassment. Because, see, this twitch in my hand forcing words to be laid down on paper, doesn’t stop. Some kind of malady.