World that joins the edge of the stairs.
Footsteps that beat in the desire of the rain, on surfaces of lonely paths.
Confusing reasons at the edge of a straight and very long road.
Where to make stops?
to go to the coffee and the landscapes
escaped from magazines,
embracing the foreign cold,
under trees without branches
we forget the tongue
and the warm colors
to embark on the hidden path of a dream.
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...
