One different path.
Listening to the birds singing in the dawn of an existence
that might have a way more peaceful
although I know the very limitations imposed on us
by that the time, like is foretold something other than reality,
in the end to bring us.
Sail and find various other oceans although it is merely an illusion,
one new course so common among the tracks
that is repeated each year,
following the migration to which do not escape.
Try the liberty, even if late,
and even if so far from the painful reality
and the repetitious monotonous
extremely repetitive and relentless.
Listen to the chirping of birds
like the beginning of a nice story that time it,
distorts, and isolates us,
although we continue the way to which
we have been predestined.
Boot and into the clothes through the storms,
a supreme ecstasy and unreachable.
We look inside ourselves and see how much
we are and not how much follow in this universe as common as fragile.
To be ourselves and not just one "brick in the wall" of existence...
Marcos Loures
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