terça-feira, 26 de janeiro de 2010

A Hundred Suns

Round eyes,
each second to grow,
sensing for fine hearts
see through covers
of sweating truth -
incapable of hesitation

I summon the catalyst
to wake the distracted pupils
drowned in few idle colors,
polluted by dirty disguises -
incapable to recognize the aquarelle of love

As the Goddess permeates
perception runs in joy
to find me stars to shine
in the fire skies indoors

From room to home
the world embraces the sons
of the Mother who lets her children go
and reach out with free hands and heart
for the exploding truth
met in the eyes of lovers
burnt by outer space fireworks
unfurling a hundred suns
from the pupils once asleep in gray.


por Pike.

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