Pre Monition
sorry, the world lost the content.
that's what the sad face of these years says
following the vertiginous decline of sunflowers
and the lack of regularity in each smile.
only this routine exercise remained,
a veiled hope of change,
that ignores the inflexible advance
of this imperative setback.
do you hear the cyclic engine of reality?
he hammers a hard thump of sour truth.
you hear the insidious echo of an ancient voice
that alerted us to this delicate moment,
which signaled this disturbing decay?
something that now disappears
like a sun that drowns,
still boiling in an ocean that devours him.
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