I heard his voice.
It's like a soft opera whispered in my ears.
With that voice, my eyes rain tears.
It is happiness' melody.
Now I became an instrument.
I'm a piano to his hands
And a flute to his mouth.
He plays the love song,
Looking at our own musical score.
From 'Do' to 'Do', we write a story.
There are some things to regret of,
But also many reasons for not to say sorry.
I close my eyes and smile at love,
While my heart keeps the hope
That the song will never end.
YOU ARE READING
Cold days of a heart on fire
PoesiaI should scream to the universe, But what is my voice after all? It is just one more between billions, And, with my death, it will not exist. So it is better for me to show what I need By writing my love, anger and dreams So I can make people see on...
