Once the life trash your voice
like windy days cuts the heat.
On the limited sunshine
flowers speaks to time
and solitud accompanied the sing
of meaningless sorrow.

We are not part of eternity now
but we will rescue our silence
from lightly sparks, from shadows
and believings. Once we tried to fly
against a fire blanket but we loose
in the timing cracked into us.

If the plan of strong words seems real
the tongue of self inside aims to the blocking
road putting on the surface of life between
the symbolic rope called tomorrow.

Photo by Anne McCarthy on Pexels.com