Myths, Dreams and Poetry. port/eng
it is a hymn as much as it is an obsession
- but isn't it holy?
-
Vim d'uma morosa manhã de abril, cresci como coruja cantante na copa do pau-brasil, tornei-me como bruma e desfiz-me...
from love i died eerie cradled by the cupid's wings, sprawling its wings so immense over my aching, lingering skin.
my body thorned as a dying rose the last petal to wither was love it faded away so quickly, as the last fragments of spring - had already flown, to a finely woven garden, deep within evening's soul.
I, too, did stayed there, with maiden spring but her waiting is ephemeral mine may be endless - even if not a alone.
a long life i had, i loved endlessly and my immense love for my unforgettable darling and my everlasting worshipness seemed to be, the beginning of a new religion.
i stayed there, underwater quivering by the touch of the dim deep sea i prayed all day long, to see her bright eyes, once again to tremble by the sight of her sweet, enraged voice and her frail naked lips.
and i vagued, alongside each season as if a phantom, lost and tombless. i wait for you, my darling thing to come with me, and swim across the evening's mellow core to a distant paradise, deep by the restless sea-shore.
winter told my story, a requiem for each may so you wouldn't forget me, nevermore. remember me, when each may falls with snow, and so, a piece of my heart - dripping with love - too, may also fall.
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