Everytime I say your name
I imagine a blurred landscape
between the mist and the mountains
And among those mountains there is art
that has half-drawn you,
reminding yourself
while you are among the fog
That confusing fog of ups and downs
will have covered your hair completely
before I can portray your face
So I forget the face with your name
but not your art neither the memory
Cause the memories fly but
without your art
Because among the mists
and the mountains
I still can read your hair and your trails
that you have roamed so much with me
I do not rhyme or measure because,
along with you, the world's verses
will make sense more than ever
And outstretching my arm and the brush
the pen spilling ink on the paper
I will write a verse and I will paint you
a portrait as the fog
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
Everytime I say your name
I imagine a blurred landscape
between the mist and the mountains
And among those mountains there is art
that has half-drawn you,
reminding yourself
while you are among the fog
That confusing fog of ups and downs
will have covered your hair completely
before I can portray your face
So I forget the face with your name
but not your art neither the memory
Cause the memories fly but
without your art
Because among the mists
and the mountains
I still can read your hair and your trails
that you have roamed so much with me
I do not rhyme or measure because,
along with you, the world's verses
will make sense more than ever
And outstretching my arm and the brush
the pen spilling ink on the paper
I will write a verse and I will paint you
a portrait as the fog
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