sábado, 27 de novembro de 2010

Epic

Come. Be protected by the shelter of my eyes.
Be embraced by the rivers of my soul,
be a fellow to my green heart -
the only one with the leaves grown.

Try. Understand that you're not always right
see trough my deep lake - the brown eyes of mine -
and watch the creation of your own.

Wait. Get a little stale and you will see
how longer i've been waiting to be
the one on your path of smoke and troubles
you're not the old man you're pretending to be.

The mists from your eyes dim and blurred,
the colored light emanating from them insipid
they do not reflect your soul embittered
or even your transgression unjustified.

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