Poor little you

Δημιουργός: curious

A happy vicar I might have been two hundred years ago,to preach upon eternal doom and watch my walnuts grow .E.B.

Εκτύπωση από: http://www.stixoi.info

I do not wish to talk about it .

I do not wish to think about it .

I just want to cry out ,

like wounded beast to cry loud .



A silent , secret sound .

A voice which enemy won ' t recognize ,

and will slip through opened fingers ,

like running water in my heart and mind .




Sound soundly invisible , without signal ,

not even for the living elements , of nature , around .



A whispear of deep pain , deeply inside ,

deeply down , but signal silent ,

no one to recognize .



Soul , all an opened mouth ,

like a lion 's one , without sound .

Pain , oh ! That ugly pain , in mind , hidden virus ,

which won ' t get out .



Cruel , invisible chains , to smash the lock with iron hand ,

but instead of chains , I smashed the hand .



Poor my '' little you '' ,

by ugly thoughts and memories ,'' old hounded house '',

on the dark side of the hill and guests ,

my ghosts inside .



Put an end in misery , coward soldier ,

without bold and pride .

That ' s equal to victory , '' worthy lesson '' to be taught ,

how to '' stand up tall '', in front of loss ,

'' little poor you '' of me .



Dissapoint me once more ,

I won ' t judge you , with acrimony ,

you are my secret piece ,

you are a circle which spins , in infinity

and turn off the light , of my soul .

The sun above and inside ,

... poor '' little you '' of me .

Δημοσίευση στο stixoi.info: 09-10-2010