domingo, dezembro 19

w . . . o . . . r . . . d

what have I done to the words?
I have tried to find them inside my chest
tried the hidden place submersed by a shadow
and only emptiness I find,
and I remember - words –
they have always lived inside my hands
flowing from finger to finger
morning could rise, night could fall
words they lived deep inside my heart,
- and without a reason -
I offered you everything I had
imagining you would save it
and take care of it each day,
I offered you everything
the flowers
my hands
my words
and each petal had your name on it
each petal was a finger for words to flow
to jump from one to another in the darkness
and you were the only light which could make them bloom,
but suddenly
it took only a second for you to forget them
(I wonder if it was meant to be)
- everything -
the flowers
my hands
my words
and in a second everything was dry
everything was senseless,
and then
I looked at you and my eyes could’t shine
I looked at you and words didn’t come,
fists were thick
breath was deep
I gave you everything and everything I lost
- and without a reason –
you made me speechless