domingo, 11 de outubro de 2009

This is the poem, these are the words

This is the poem that would be.

These are the words meant to say.
This is the me only I see.
These are thoughts at the end of day.
This is a song of silent chords.
These are drums of beating hearts.
This is a tango of flaming swords.
These are steps becoming shards.
This is now, then and never.
These are times of endless want.
This is becoming, eternal, forever.
These are all those "I can't".
This is what my pen does.
These are pauses in thought.

This is the poem that never was.

1 comentário:

  1. "a tango of flaming swords"
    when two lovers dance and fight,
    with two sword in each side,
    one of love, elvish bright
    one of anger, red of night...

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