Do you know that sometimes, when is dark,
your ghostly eyes do light my path, like white, slow fires,
and in their flames I see desires?
-you think I’m blind?-
Is it true that, sometimes, when it’s cold,
your icy lips do freeze the sweet and soft caresses
and all I hear is bitter guesses?
-you think I’m deaf?-
Have you see that, sometimes, when love dies,
your hopeless heart still speaks its free, wild prayer
and I am tortured by despair?
-you think I’m voiceless?-
Oh, don’t you know that silence screams the coldest blasphemy?
It turns my soul into a scene for wild obscenity!
It shouts into my helpless agony…
-that you are lost-
It isn’t quiet in its cruelty!
-When all we are is dust in savage wind,
you think I’m made of stone?-
All credits for the photo to Abigail from http://www.pixabay.com