The Waving
I’m here , you are there, a vessel waving in our veins,
the hours that count my significant life, the constant
image of thy, you!. You are the title of my book,
of my memento, how I seek thee in the little things I see,
your face there in the body of a grasshopper,
a butterfly, a nectar flower, any where I look,
I see the endless of your profound eyes,
in the landscape of my deserted life.
Where do you go and where do I look,
it is not that I worship thy, but that I need to live.
I’m dressed with the vision of the bride, to be in vain,
who told me I was his , "I can lie all I want
I can pretend all I want", why are you so vivid?
I know is all an illusion, theres nothing real there.
You are gone and I am here trying to dismiss the fact
of your cruelness, the smell of your last day in my true,
in my illusion, the fantasy I created to replace the
pain that follows my aching body.
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