Ruins
The ruins of life that make up
The steps forgotten, the past...
The pains in my chest so lying
Changing the walk more sensitive.
In this arid desert of my life
I do not even water or destination.
The hand of the lonely, derided,
Making my road in sad acumen.
Abysses of woe I have in me,
Overcome by pain and sighs.
Death goes prowling without end,
Stealing and taking my breaths.
My life, wilderness and drought
Chasm has already been made of sighs...
Marcos Loures
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