A self crowned sorrow
Wears the plumaged men,
And beauty is in the momentary truth:

    The concrete jungle offers
    Dazzling constraints,
    Into the ruins of their cities
    They become broken statues
    Gnawed by thoughts.
    The sun sets for a last time
    In the lively ruins.

Hearts break, minds suffer.
A man of stone passes
A man of stone,
They unearth lucid dreams
Passing by and only wondering
What resurrection could be had
In a simple "hello".

    To each an island
    In a tower of silence,
    Their light builds
    Shadows that haunt.

They pass the lovely forms,
Green pines on a shore,
Rolling hills of oak,
The swaying wind
Kissing the sea.

     In the ruins they dwell,
     Propping high into empty skies,
     To stretch their senses
     Into the living hour:
     The truth escapes
     Their brimming cups.