Hands so cold...
The soul grew old,
and it remained silent.
The boy kept at bay every thought,
every word; every day remained silent.
Hands so cold...
The soul grew old,
so fast, so much in silence.
The boy kept that smile
—that hides the pain—
every second on his face;
Every day remained silent.
Hands so cold...
The soul grew old,
while he avoided the search of happiness just because it doesn't unfold...
He remained silent.
The boy was just a boy that kept getting hurt; day after day.
So one day, and till this day, he became silent.
Hands so cold...
But if he could make me fall in love with that icy touch of his, then I'm gonna stay.
I'll be so patient, so calm...
I'll wait for the day i hear him say:
"It feels so warm, it feels so warm...".
YOU ARE READING
Beloved, my John
PoetryWe were gods in those days. Now we are more than that. [First time publishing my pieces in english. Any feedback would be great!]
