In the autumn that trickles slowly, like the sand through an hourglass

In the autumn that trickles slowly, like the sand through an hourglass, The frost of the morning laments on the deserted pavement, While the clock of the heart, with its ticking keeps measure, Creaks inside me, reminding of an unfulfilled past. On the edge of a forgotten newspaper, I read fates broken in the wind, And from the ruins of hope, I rebuild a new purpose, Memories tremble within me, lost loves, a burning yearning, And the must of life, which sometimes, turns into dew wine. In the drawer of the heart, where I hid dreams and desires, I play with life, among rains and empty, grey days, Conjugating the verb to be, in memories and reminiscences, And in the night that swallows me, the clock at the gate beats for me. I am the forgotten hero of a moment that got lost in the distance, The apprentice of life, forever learning lessons of love and pain, And when it hurt you, I felt a deep wound in my soul, For in our silence, we buried words, without measure, without forgiveness.