It´s difficult to love when we are down,
It´s like having nowhere to sleep,
We just pretend that we have an option.
Under the bridge or on the garden bench.

Like dust, we rise a couple seconds
At the passage of the unknown
Anxiously aiming to be oxygen
In someone´s lungs
But we fall painfully slow on the ground.

Like smoke of a fire
Or fog we have an effect
A principle of being
But we just can't feel it

A cause
Or a mere colatteral accident in life?
A real pain
Or nature´s oblivion...?