I forgot the days
                           Of yesterday
                                      And the past fouls,
I forgot to jot down
                           And weave
                                     Consonants with vowels,
I forgot to wrap
                     Your heart
                                     In warm misty towels,
And now you’re gone
                        And all that is left
                                      Are my bleeding bowels.

It is a door,
And you inside
It is a door
That opens from the outside.
You are waiting,
Maybe down and out
What is coming?
What is waiting out?
You cannot have a go,
It is too rude,
As all humans know
From their childhood.
And you are afraid,
What is coming next!

When I remember you,
Hidden behind your glasses,
Victimized by others’ glances,
Disdained and neglected
Cursed and rejected,
                         I accuse myself.
When I remember you,
Frightened by your ex,
Persecuted because of your ***,
Your genre and helpless will,
Afraid of the next will,
                        I disdain myself.
When I remember you,
Endowed by the Saint Hand,
Buried in the Saint Land,
Reminded by some,
Forgotten by some
                        I curse myself.
When I remember you,
Naked by my side
Along the nights’ tide,
Discovered by my hands,
And reached to your ends,
                        I long to myself.
When I remember you,
I call back the tears,
I turn deaf my ears,
I blow out my candle,
To fro the scandal_
And I forget myself.

When I remember you,
                          I forget myself.

And for the third time, the third one of the two
Is the Chairman, to me?
Is simply time.
Both of you are brothers to the Sun
As, drole , as eyes!
Both of you without lies
Brethren to the fun.
So let it be two, yes two
Neither near, nor far
Dear to each other, both a star,
You will be used to.
And remember, once tied with Holly Mights
You will try your way
But once fey,
One is tied to hollow nights.

“It doesn’t feed you bread,”
My father, trying to help me said,
And through,
I was left all of a heap:
A imbrued with poison sword,
Is better than an imbue word.

Here we are hitherto pulling
The wheel of fate,
Leaving behind what once was forth,
And looking forward to what is behind.
“Ahead my wheel, ahead!
No wheel should stand lull,
Unless it pulls out what
It has already pulled in.”
Meanwhile, men stand watching the wheel
Wishing it never to stop.

Running behind it
I went far,
Far than myself
Then, far from myself
I was to be near it,
And if I could run it back
I would humbly do it.