The Sick
Evening and grief and lamp light Bury our death-face. We sit at the window and drop out of it, Far off day still squints at a gray house. We scarcely touch our life... And the world is a morphine dream... Blinded by clouds the sky sinks. The garden expires in dark wind - The watchmen enter, Lift us up into bed, Inject us with poison, Kill the lamp. Curtains hang in front of the night... They disappear gently and slowly - Some groan, but no one speaks, Our buried face sleeps.
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About this line
"Evening and grief and lamp light..."
"The Sick" is a quintessential example of Alfred Lichtenstein's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...