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friend poetry

flores dos bebês
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
um pensamento doce solemn
em setembro
mas alas, sonhos justos
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
eu vi com olhos abertos
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
rode-me para baixo pelo prado

 



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