The Work of American Poet Igor Goldkind



Hewn at the stems

The red, red blossoms shriek:

‘Murder! Murder!’

Succumbed by mortal pain.

We destroy all that we Love.

We cannot but help it;

Like scorpions, it is in our nature.

Though turtle-like,

We also carry the burden of loyal sacrifice and

The love of Truth.

Mr. Jekyl and Dr. Hyde

The two versions of the same coin

Flipped and suspended in the mid-air moment

Is it me or is it the world that remains thus divided?



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