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dark poetry

para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
levantado dos mortos
nĂłs que estiveram
as canções antigas
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
dĂŞ-me
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
em sua barraca guardada
eu detestei-o
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro

 



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