I would rather cross my mind,
and travel, alone, all of mine;
or behead my day, so full of head,
and, a day or more, live my life…
I carry all my deeds,
and the beads of my hate;
I whisper words of shed,
and expect my own side…
To the lonely night and day,
I dare to love once again;
travelling all myself, an unknown way,
I recall some of the lost rain.
It is turning to summer, for a change,
and I glance back for a familiar face;
but I witness myself in a crime of dilemma:
to be, or not to be, a part of this life again…
Leave a Reply