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love poetry

nobility da morte outra vez
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
qual se mantem
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
os poetas dizem
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
na esfera
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
melancolia, azul era
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir

 



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