Robert Rittel

05 February 1960
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The painted vessel

What mighty confusion can rise from trivial things,
offended feelings from poor perception brings.
The strangest motives that compel,
when love is not free to dwell.
In this soft bosom charges a rage,
not knowing how to engage.
Sleepless lovers in touching illusion,
withering in pain for conclusion.
Nothing can compare to this ghost,
reaching for the escape at its most.
The graceful ease and sweet void of pride,
some more faults to hide.
By force to ravish the disappointing betrayal,
seems to be the only possible way.
The vessel of envy in the tide heading the disaster,
rudderless bodies with little choice to maneuver.
A new canvas vision for a different painted ship,
with sails of compassion and open blue horizons to fit.
Missing each others all speaking touch,
fills the sail with courage, knowing that so much.
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