domingo, 13 de setembro de 2015

sem título, 01

When she first went to live in the cave,
she thought it was love that hurt inside
she had never noticed before that
love could be such a painful disease.
The cave would sound cold and unfriendly
but it became her warm and peaceful house.
It didn't take long until bees arrived
building a hive on a violet spring season.
The smell of the untouchable honey
brought remembrance of sweet times
and the few sun rays that achieved cave's interior
helped a pretty anemic green carpet to grow.
She noticed one night that abstract things
started to become material and she'd never forget
silence embracing her in all its strenght.
In silence she started to forget pain.
Loving silence allowed not remembering,
not describing feelings anymore,
and that was the found way of not feeling them.

(agosto, 2015)

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