August Twenty Eight
Everyday
I get up at eight
With hope after hope
Live those lovely moments
Of Spring time mornings
To start a new mindful day
And leave:
The feeling of her eyelash movements in my mind
The fact of true passion emerging beside
The first letter of the word we have defined
And the freedom of our white clouds driven by wind
And at night, the first moment of every night,
I slip deep through the fragrance of my room
Without any will to light up another candle!
But today
I woke up too late
With hope against hope
Facing this heavy moment
Of an Autumnal morning
To end an old mindless day
And wait:
The feeling of her eye shadow reflections in my mind
The fact of true imaginations left behind
The last letter of a word we had declined
And a broken grey cloud driven by wind
And at night, the last moment of this night
I slip deep through the darkness of my room
Without any will to light up another candle!
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