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I grew up reading Oscar Wilde… however I came accross this poem in a very strange way… I’ve never heard it before or maybe I read it in a wrong period of my life and I didn’t remember it. I would like to explain how and why it affected me so much… but not needed. Everybody can interpret it the way he wants. Here’s a small part of it:


Ballad of Reading Gaol

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.

-Oscar Wilde-