Farmers look up at the sky
waiting for their harvest checks.
The trees are their children
like a circle full of crowds.
Citizens who tie a piece of anguish in their heads
and prick the breast of the sky back to the village.
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
ATYPICAL SITUATION
Farmers look up at the sky
waiting for their harvest checks.
The trees are their children
like a circle full of crowds.
Citizens who tie a piece of anguish in their heads
and prick the breast of the sky back to the village.