Spread in disorder
I always fall in love with the beauty,
and little by little I start breathing one love,
spring - revives inside my chest
and flowers bloom obstinately
expelling thorns through all my flesh.
love is immortal
but it will be in grave peril
as time goes by,
and I closed my eyes in firmness when you asked
don’t fly away from me though
or at least not forever,
just wondering about dreams
and why do I keep diving so deeply in them,
trying to force myself to sleep
just to escape from reality.
love - it is not immortal,
some dreams can last forever
and others disappear with the winter,
when wounds waste away the thorns
and flowers wither with cold.
this might be the grave,
and this might be the peril,
but I can’t promise not to fly
if beauty reappears with wings
asking me for eternity.