serlud
V.I.P Member
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- Aug 8, 2010
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I feel the smell of your skin that goes away.
In the palm of his hands remained at the twilight's caress, and this night forward, the silence of the darkness that gathers around me.
I listen to your smile as an ancient tale, a fairy tale faded.
And the words, what he wrote to me, have lost their home and color, forgotten in too many thoughts in too much haste made in distraction, in that it looks like too little time.
Meeting in memory of your shyness at first sight.
The pick now as then, smiling.
Rest well, lost, remember how to put clips in her hair, and look at crumbs of existence that you chase.
You so far.
I so absent from everything, seconded by a life that is too much salt on the wounds.
I collected the pebbles that fate had left me on the way, but I have lost the path.
No need to scream at me or others, do not need to write it.
You do not need.
I am a slot in which the light passes with difficulty and as the black blade splits into two halves perfect: what are they and what are not.
From me you get through the dark, with shadow wings and springs of pure silence, the dawn and sunset in this will be what I would give you.
But I have yet to resume breathing, dreaming again tomorrow, when weaving the design of an architecture of life, as tailors of a dream.
Meanwhile, I watch you, watch your embrace come away from my tears and collect sunset under a sky of wisteria.
The sky is not mine.
In the palm of his hands remained at the twilight's caress, and this night forward, the silence of the darkness that gathers around me.
I listen to your smile as an ancient tale, a fairy tale faded.
And the words, what he wrote to me, have lost their home and color, forgotten in too many thoughts in too much haste made in distraction, in that it looks like too little time.
Meeting in memory of your shyness at first sight.
The pick now as then, smiling.
Rest well, lost, remember how to put clips in her hair, and look at crumbs of existence that you chase.
You so far.
I so absent from everything, seconded by a life that is too much salt on the wounds.
I collected the pebbles that fate had left me on the way, but I have lost the path.
No need to scream at me or others, do not need to write it.
You do not need.
I am a slot in which the light passes with difficulty and as the black blade splits into two halves perfect: what are they and what are not.
From me you get through the dark, with shadow wings and springs of pure silence, the dawn and sunset in this will be what I would give you.
But I have yet to resume breathing, dreaming again tomorrow, when weaving the design of an architecture of life, as tailors of a dream.
Meanwhile, I watch you, watch your embrace come away from my tears and collect sunset under a sky of wisteria.
The sky is not mine.
