In the middle of language
the instinct belong
to noise
the time sing
muting inside
tons build against
exterior violence.
Instinct called to eat
and feed and sex
and talk and hear
to be aside our nature
called more than war
and ambitions and destruction.
In the middle of language
the instinct can blow up
what we have reached
once to broke in the surface
of light as tiny clouds of sparks
and being besides horizons.
The language must face us
to reborn and recall
what we are
where do we are heading
how we are going to make things
who are we be defined as.
Nothing can be share without
a vision concerning the limits
that touch our self boundaries.

Photo by Bruno Thethe on