Yes, I hear voices (an essay of confused thoughts)

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.

Keats – Ode On A Grecian Urn


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  1. #1 by passionfortruths on February 5, 2012 - 4:12 am

    Yes, thoughts create. That is the origin. 🙂

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