II won’t write about you.
It may be winter again, unsettled still
…A long way before she finally gives her prounciamento.
But this time I won’t write about you.
I am searching for a panacea..
I am sure I can find one…
As I walk the varicoloured streets
Spray painted stories,
yet formless, on broken walls.
There is still a life..
There are still smiles…
Levity, chords, and a few known songs.
They slowly land at my doorstep..
With the morning papers..
I read, and yet wait for the
End to my favourite story.
It may be winter again, unsettled still
…A long way before she finally gives her prounciamento.
But this time I won’t write about you.
I am searching for a panacea..
I am sure I can find one…
As I walk the varicoloured streets
Spray painted stories,
yet formless, on broken walls.
There is still a life..
There are still smiles…
Levity, chords, and a few known songs.
They slowly land at my doorstep..
With the morning papers..
I read, and yet wait for the
End to my favourite story.
5 comments:
hmmm :-)
better if i could understand the hmm:) whoever u r
Hello. This post is likeable, and your blog is very interesting, congratulations :-). I will add in my blogroll =). If possible gives a last there on my blog, it is about the Impressora e Multifuncional, I hope you enjoy. The address is http://impressora-multifuncional.blogspot.com. A hug.
the problem (and the pointless sweetness) is that we all wait for the favourite ending, when waiting itself has had lost all meaning aeons ago..
u know, the deliberate attempt to run can be felt,actually felt.i like the intensity.and the resignation.
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