Poet without fate
I live on Odes of endless days
of missing hours that once were
Words that bend my reality
where I wish I could lay you down
And verses suddenly shut
for a voice that no longer will sing to heaven and hell
for hands that no longer will know what to hold on
O desired fate that no more
when intense whispers announced us
when innocently I tried to write you…
Source: virtutes-vitia
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