Eyes begin to cry.
Eyes of a blind love.
Eyes that have never hated.
Small and sincere
vanish into the air.
Without knowing how to
hide the pain silent.
That you enclose my essence,
my primary source of suffering.
You who have traveled ravenged street,
beginning with a sublime
but with a tragic end.
Lit the last time my path.
Now:
stop,
eyes,
It's useless to look
for the perfect non-existent.
There's no time for tears burned!
STAI LEGGENDO
LACRIME SOLITARIE
PoetryC'è la notte, a volte troppo nera, quale trascina la mente in meandri solitari. E c'è la notte, quella vera, dove siamo io e lei alla pari.
