They fell asleep to the sound of rattling chains
And dream to sell its lullaby

~
Elegies
entering the lists,
in absentia,
the prayer of blood
broken at its spine.

Ah, how minding days
trampoline and joust,
like those days beyond recall
thrown into the fire.

The persistence of memory
is a series of F-stops,
the fountain of youth
a spring of well-being
and then forever nothingness.

We've reached the prophetic day,
I feel the coming wrath
in the whites of their eyes:

I dream of wires
and sleep by godless windows,
the sound of untamed rivers
chanting passions misplaced
and of the absence of belief

—the true ***** of man.

Take one last look
at the structure of morality
before it closes down.

One last look...
~

I want to be a poet
Looking for the blooming words that are born from limpid dew likes mantra
The root of this words grows on the valley of secrecy
They won't  be easily swayed even by time
They grow up until becomes ripe by pieces of prayer to keep their eternity
Do you know ?
In the blooming words
There are beautiful fragrant appear from deep meaning
In a field of words, they were born from fertility of compassion and human morality
I really want to write it before time returns to cover his secrets