Sunday, February 7, 2010


In this short journey of yours towards death, remember not to leave behind:
imploring mouths, hands open to the sky, eyes starring to your soul, trembling hearts between the absurd pains of the incommunicable truth.

Drink a last glass of wine and go ahead, there where young flowers are born, and tired beings die….. defeated by time.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Interesting poem