The arctic spell of this winter,
Has finally froze the river.
With the parade currents lying still,
Grasping the last air to be free again.
For the river has now lost its audience,
As they paddled into the deep sea.
While the polar glass exhibited the frozen lie,
The anecdote of time taking a pause,
In a bewitching black of a silver sky.
Alas the sublime river starts to hope again,
As the sun embraced warmer rays,
With every melt of the icy skin,
The river heart starts to beat again.
At the dawn of this winter lapse.
The currents ran once more,
With the arrival of the inhabitants,
The river was once alive again.

Let these windows be the theatres,
Where the play is wild and original,
Where every cast is a superb actor,
Where the story is the best fiction,
Like a farm boy on an old tractor.

Let these eyes be the camera,
Where the view is sharp and shaped,
Where every object gets an imperfect finish
Where the image is at its crown grace.
The portrait of the lost gimmicks.

Let these skies be the shower,
Where from the rain falls to cleanse,
Where the head gets a awe spin,
Where its virtue had always been,
The roof over a million dreams.

So I care not,
If I am the blind for this earth,
The ghost of an enemy,
With no eyes, I still feel,
The rewarding gift of eternity.

A Paris night, with all it's sweet endeavours,
Blurred by a face with emerald eyes,
Out shadowed by the shades of her hair,
She must be the truth of beautiful lies.

With a cup of warm coffee in her hands,
With the gentle wind unfolding her hair tress,
The waiter with bewildered bones,
Greeted her 'Buenas Noches'

She grinned and with tender steps lead her way,
While a pair of eyes was at sea.
In the wild calm of her imperfect picturesque,
The shackles of his heart were set free.

Behind the looking glass, the boy stood subdued,
In the utter waves of her essence,
The euphonious ripples of the angel's visit,
The graceful gift of her presence.

The night turned into a hopeful day,
With the pair of eyes still seeking in the streets,
Searching for the beat of his heart,
The earth to his feets.

With desire clocking to despair,
Those eyes grew wet,
With the clock beating seconds,
He had a journey to get back.

The bags laid still on the room,
The food untouched at the bed,
With eyes lost in that night,
He raved the streets of Paris till a miracle shed.

And his eyes met that lovely face,
The girl you can't stop from falling in.
The blood rushed once again through the veins,
Working the muscles to bring a smile,
The smile of an answered heart,
The smile that explains the mystery we call Love.

But the face was lost again,
In the same old Paris streets.
With a hidden smile, he turned back,
Hoping their small worlds would meet again,
In a place where hearts reigned.