Today, double-checking an old notepad consumed almost entirely, on the last page I found a poem that goes back several months ago. I've written in the same issue just last published, but with a very different mood.
Incredible to think about how sometimes it takes very little time to change something permanently.
Along with this "relic of the past stupidity," I offer you a more recent work, more or less dedicated to the same theme.
Everything is dark, I see just one star,
A thought, perhaps, given to me.
But tomorrow the moon will be full,
And my mind will fly to you.
When I speak, a thrill in the back;
Still, you make me feel like a king.
And tomorrow the moon will be full,
And I would be able to see with you.
I do not expect anything more, now, from this senseless charade
now over.
one time, I hoped, yet I still
If not, again, a sad wound, cauterized
time, yet sad,
of having dedicated his life to you?
Son within the storm wrecked
Of your whims. Now I understood.
Now just: I leave you to your wretched
Fate of empty dreams and illusions.
You deserve it. Both know,
not with joy now that we speak: Your thoughts abstruse
I am known
I know now. I no longer love you.
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