pouring into new chalices
a dream of timelessness
not to drink it but to exist one day
we had lived long in our youth
to go slowly and still far through our pains
on the naked face of earth
we are wounded animals
between our lips and around the heart
but we do not know anymore
how to recognize the scratch where we bleed
and yet
we move on
we flow like rivulets of joy to the sea
as riverbed our scars
through the mountains of silence
Marco Bo
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento