out of the train you stepped
and i mixed hugs with handshakes
while all the hopes you kept
were nothing close to mine
since i was burnt and you were tall
not on the outside
i cried for more but was too small
to comprehend
you broke my face alright
and never knew my tears
but could not hold me tight
afraid i smelled your fears
't was not love but love it was
to be for ever
on that we would have somewhat
finally agreed
but there is one thing that appraisedly
counts for never
we'd never clear up who'd be pamly
in the lead
you broke my face alright
and never knew my tears
but could not hold me tight
afraid i smelled your fears
© 2009
(feeble attempt of a song;
if i know that much i should
be wondering why i can't let go)
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You see, here you'll find poems of opportunity and seasons. They're mine, though, so I have to protect them.
Welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
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