Blogging poetico

Idiomatic crafter

Where the art stumble

what mean can be reached?

In my words there is solitude.

Fly against the fire my soul

to get the upper side oh heaven.

Once I’ve left the tongue of my motherhood

in the middle of a vacuity monologue.

We still wiating for the sun to stop,

we cry again, we recall the ancient firehood.

Nothing get us apart, nothing make us leave

our timing. We could go to further lands

but we cry and scream and hide

so then we forget and forgive.




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