WITHOUT DESTINATION
Climbing aimlessly, horse, man ...
Stepping many leaves have fallen,
Rising gradually disappear forever
The marks they left on the climbs ...
The reins ordering you not to stop,
The river which draws snake.
In marching without gallops to fire
The fully drawn marks
Spurs this life are damned
Stories forgotten ... What you want
For many of these steps spoken
And increasingly distant always rises.
What you want as loud, so then what?
Horse and man. Destination? Unknown ...
MARCOS LOURES
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