The Virginia Wolf's Letters

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"Letter To My Unknown Lover"

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"Les Amants" by Rene Magritte Sir, the other day  i was passing by your heart and I stopped to listen to its beat So smooth and gently rythm... Was she beating for me? No answer was given... At on ce, my mind  starte d wispering "Don't let it pass away It 's the time for offering" So, I'm offering you my beating heart placed her right on your soul's door hold her gently in your hands Should you ever need  you will always feel her beat is there for you, no matter the passing hours... As now you should know, for I 've always knew... My hours are believing you As soon as you appear, they stop.  I' m just wondering when are you going to appear  For I lust to stop my hours for you
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CHARLES BUKOWSKI – The Unfitted Story Teller

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Εικόνα
On August 16 th  1920 a young boy was born in the German city of Andernuch.   His name was Henry Charles Bukowski. In the age of two his family moved to Los Angeles United States Born in a very weird family with an extremely rough discipline father, whom young Charles was afraid of as he usually beat his son and bullied him, young Charles was a frightened little boy with no self confidence forced to obey the strict rules of his father.  As shy he was often lost into his own world writing down his thoughts and feelings. Writing was his first love and he started following this passion.   But though he loved his talent, his mother did not., After finishing school his decision was to go to college- as he did- and study literature and become a writer and a journalist. He wrote every single day, but as soon as his mother found out that her son was writing stories, she threw his scripts away as she thought that was a stupid habit.  His mother's acti...
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The White Feather's Flow

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Εικόνα
Have you seen it? Right on the top of the clouds Flowing by the wind Touching rough drops of rain and soft flakes of snow Have you seen it? Excessively going down To be connected with the earth's breath It's all in white Should it ever been Would it ever will be? I ' m calling to the Angels Don't let it drop down For it's whitness shall become darkness For it's purity Shall become filthyness Hold it on the top of the clouds For there sleeps its truth Never let it down Earth is full of mad and coldhearted faces Its purinity will vanish Please let it up where it belongs No other place is better to be than where God lives and always will be Please, keep it up because you know, The White Feather Flow must never reach here down below
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