a beautiful dream, slowly dying

The earth wept for no reason under a soft articulate noise of auctioned lives, a beautiful dream, slowly dying. Rottenness seeks in the soul righteous prey, grown from pure moments in which the whiteness of thought nurtures the hope of cleanliness away from the smell own rot, inherited from primary birth. I feel the path in the whites of my eyes through the chain of peoplecrucified only for the future millennia. We collect the rusty nails with tears let's stick them on the sky. Through the ancestral valleys the blood of the crusaders flows, furrowing the carapace of faith to destruction. One earth, one history, hangs like a ripe fruit in the grown tree from the heart of the universe ready to taste the putrefaction. On another branch a flower opens in the prehistory of another fruit. The earth wept for no reason under a soft articulate noise of auctioned lives, a beautiful dream, slowly dying