Myth is the nought that means all. The very sun that opens up the sky Is a bright and silent myth- The dead embodiment of God Alive and naked. This one who called here at port, Found existence in not being. Without being he sufficed us. Because he did not come, he came about And created us. And so does legend flow Across the threshold of reality And enriching it, runs forth. Down below, life, half Of nothing, dies away. Fernando Pessoa
Posted on: Sun, 14 Sep 2014 14:06:43 +0000
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