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A Hamlet by myself
Ahead of the paper we see the whiteThe same that our soul prospersThe white of the feelings, that is chimera.The challenge is to ahead write the first line of a verse.Of the paper, for hours, I was immersedWithout nothing to tell, nothing to make, only looking at and saying:"To be or not to be?"Where are you, inspiration? Where are you, illusion?Did you died in the lake with Ophelia,Or was banished and wounded with the darts of my disenchantment?How to say the truth when everything in us is only