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sábado, 22 de febrero de 2014

The hour



The hour

The continuous movement
Leaves the possibility to suggest
On a limitless end
On the eternal present.

From the road you are crossing
Since the roof you are stepping
And in the breath of a dream
That sustains someone who desires ignoring.

The closed doors
And the hands going to your head
The almost forgotten cup of tea
And the true scope of desire.

When the tears appear
Or when you project a smile
The dimness always changes
When the war is inside
With any possible witnesses.

During a passing morning
The traces will always remain
Pushing toward one of the directions
To the steps where the sight is focused
On the man transformed in a bird or snake.[1]

The crowd is in calm
Because the one creating is quiet
And the sky is clear
For one who closes everything
Except the scuttle of his love.

To see if it can be proved
The soul of someone who endures
The body that carries it on
The idea of a bare duality.

At the time you are alone
When it is not about the shelter
That the cold storm does not damage
But for the feeling that something more than worse exists
It is not even better but just the edge of comprehension.





[1] Nietzche – coin