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poem for pastors

limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
há uma hora do descanso calmo
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro
a lua levantando-se escondeu as estrelas
se eu for muito certo
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
última meia-noite
um com você
um olhar é mas um raio

 



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