miércoles, 19 de octubre de 2011

I put your picture in the frame

Leaves behind the pavament
Water running through the nerves
Streets stained by footsteps
hidden hunters in lost ways

Walls are meeting once again
Ragging papers shouting names
Streets are comming narrower
hunter-prey, helpless face

My feet are wiping your footsteps
Your shadow is trapped in the lost way
What is comming? What to say?
No more races, no more ends

Lighting eyes in your helpless face
Something is comming, something is left
Saying nothing was the best,
ever since I put your picture in the frame

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario