I get up too late
The day is lost
I don’t bless the rooster
I don’t raise my hands to the water
Then it’s dark
and I look into all the spots
on rue St-Denis
I even talk religion
to the other wastrels
who, like me, are after new women
In bed I fall asleep
in the middle of a Psalm
which I am reading
for a magic cure
— Leonard Cohen
Posted in Leonard Cohen, Poetry, Religion
A deep happiness
has seized me
My Christian friends say
that I have received
the Holy Spirit
It is only the truth of solitude
It is only the torn anemone
fastened to the rock
its root exposed
to the off-shore wind
O friend of my scribbled life
your heart is like mine —
your loneliness
will bring you home
— Leonard Cohen
Posted in Leonard Cohen, Poetry
Notes from a Room 
