Sunk under the weight of my own,
I surrender my peace to welcome her;
though the sky, not so distant, is burning,
the finite is not so serene…
Plain roads are a symbolic game:
the closer it seems, the farther its way;
up above, yet so dispersed within its own,
covering an inch of the sky’s stone…
Noisy, yet entertaining now,
it feels like riding hell with your own;
a hidden glory beneath the flying cloud —
how it matters, leaving its comfort shell…
In the full night of the dark lorry,
the Lord walked to the fire and spelled a charm;
and I showed my heart to you — and it was gone:
the feelings of it, now, are what they call love and hate.
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