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The Demon In Me

 The demon in me's not dead,
He's living, and well.
In the body as in a hold, In the self as in a cell.
The world is but walls.
The exit's the axe.
("All the world's a stage," The actor prates.
) And that hobbling buffoon Is no joker; In the body as in glory, In the body as in a toga.
May you live forever! Cherish your life, Only poets in bone Are as in a lie.
No, my eloquent brothers, We'll not have much fun, In the body as with Father's Dressing-gown on.
We deserve something better.
We wilt in the warm.
In the body as in a byre.
In the self as in a cauldron.
Marvels that perish We don't collect.
In the body as in a marsh, In the body as in a crypt.
In the body as in furthest Exile.
It blights.
In the body as in a secret, In the body as in the vice Of an iron mask.

by Marina Tsvetaeva
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