The stars do not write stories, in this time.
The sound of weeping, excited the song of summer: again a second, an instant!
Another and last slide … I know that sometimes when I let you go, even though it is in the grids of the lucid dream and the thorns of flowers s’arrotolano like tongues of serpents, and you, a vision that collects the paraphrase
Of ramblings of my heart that invokes the will of their love,
A last throb, who is born in me I hope you in any form you want to accept it.
Some merged outperforming the frenzy of crickets, I think may be the sunset.
Being nothing and then
Be suspended in that moment forever
Let the waves of light that wakes,
Another moment longer, please, always,
“I love you too.”
That those eyes have
Spoken before of my voice
In an unknown language
Hidden behind the clouds,
Those who have dreamed with me
And breaking away with a sigh
They wander on the mind and that time does not take away.
Eyes that worshiped the invisible occurred, and the memory of those eyes is visible so as to leave fingerprints on the body,
Eyes that have seen.
And on the day that goes even dreams
Music from turntable gold
In the heart and core of all peace
I pass in front of
Gas and wood
With eyes looking
The sound of what it was.
An elderly lady lights a cigarette
Her lungs on fire
They arrive at the sky like fireworks
Enchantment of a night lived
With his heart in the middle
Cutting into the death.
A man reads the newspaper
And the law of the world that is falling apart,
A melody in step with the steps
Of the others and mine cemented
At the Darkness latent in me
In search of a rainbow
That is not a trail of blood.
“On the other side, the sun,” he says,
Among thick glasses, and hands that have touched a few more years.
He gets up and walks: his time is into the blink of an eye,
And life goes on to sing.