A summit, a flower

To WW.

I will not sleep

until the night

converted into ash

lifts the glare of the hours

made by the light of the thrush,

when their singing leads to dawn

until oblivion.

I will not break into tears nor rales

as I remember the death of my heroes.

I will not fall on my knees before the waves

that have rammed my step.

I will walk among the shadows

beside the blond angel of the night

that rises in the heavenly arch

shining darkness into light.

I'll be the ocean and I'll be fight

no battle will be lost.

I will be in the back rooms

waiting to be besieged

and I will fight tooth and nail

because I will not succumb to defeats.

Each idea is forged

With flutter of the wandering thought.

The earth itself is a word

unfolded

dressed thread,

a solemn door

swollen with omens

wide and empty of the black exorcism.

A summit, a flower,

immersion hidden in your language.

Dressed see aurora

the world divided into two stories.

It is also soothing for the lost,

longing assayed in anxiety.

Do not be afraid

Sail into my soul

until the return of the world.

I will wait with the cloak of

uncertainty

tied to my waist...

I will wait...

[no matter what the soul feels

half dead on the top

ideas often returns

shape and charge

is normal if they  wander blindly]

And after the freeze

we will reborn from the brume

between diamond rain

between the winds of the fields.

and then only with your inflamed beating ...

I will be the night

I will be the hours

I will be the aurora

I will be the ocean waves

I'll be life ...