A song between dreams,
a praised second of fantasy,
an intention of a promised day
facing the shame.
Oh, afternoons, without sighs,
bathed, in the cry of maladroitness,
and waiting for nothing, that keeps insisting.
A verse to a day that never was,
a whole poem, to the universe on the run,
fully inspired to the impossible.
A song between the pacts,
those of illusion and ethereal seals,
a day for perennial nostalgia,
and, for shared sadness.
It was a day of kindness,
but dawn, never came,
and what little hope was left, gone.
Oh, dawn, that was never born,
leaving the sun lost, in its mirrors.
An ode to good fortune,
who preferred to postpone happiness,
indefinitely shelving eclipses.
A special place, yes,
that day, that never was
but it is latent and commanding.
And always, like an open book,
leaving everything to the winds of fortune ...
waiting for the alibi, for the day to happen.
A song between dreams,
because it will be,
it will be, just one day,
the first of a lifetime,
where calm reigns,
and existence triumphs.

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Copyright 2020 LIFEINVADER
Published on Thursday, July 30, 2020.     Filed under: "Personal" and "Poetry"
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