quarta-feira, 21 de novembro de 2012

...after nothing's eve


I am a writer
that nobody knows
having a paper as my only host
Moaning deep whispers
like a mad ghost
Through this invisible pen
I can't hold
I seek for an intangible measure
where the metter is most
Now keep your eyes closed!
and behold
the lines becoming old
the jokers starting to fold
the silly walk of Hope
at the end of the world.

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