Marks...
The tears of those who tried to go beyond merely one brand
new day and had found none served only to salt
which could have the sweet taste of a happiest time.
Uncertainty presents multiform,
but generates the loose soil
where what we try to and you cannot
just slimy feeling of the futility us touch and involved
with your hands jelly and dark.
The moon is distal and only the dark side takes my entire horizon,
foretelling the death of what could be hope still subtle.
The icy winds and fragile abandoned fortress are my ultimate henchmen,
and luck on the tables released crumbling by the time
cannot support even the weight of a useless reminder that takes my head.
I look inside me and I can see nothing more except
the expectation aborted by reality.
Looking for the tracks that I left when I tried
to take off and nothing,
except the vague impression on the sand
demarcated the illusions still persists.
Inconstant...
Marcos Loures
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário