The Mist

Near a pink music dream at the moon
An enormous and gorgeous storm shines away of the lake
Spraying delirious water from the sky.

A bitter vision with easy goddess incubates
A delicate rain through her invariable path
Like a sweet rock ache
Unable to share its pain
By leaving no traces anywhere.

She asks me if an ominous sun was questioning my beauty
Why such moment has stopped my peaceful swim
By rendering my voice to the darkest ail.

I think the cold spring is over
After the true-like men language is dead,
Like a rapacious eagle taking its food,
the febrile time has also come to an end…

…As my shadow screams beneath s diffused light
I fall sleep shaking in the arm of the deafening mist
And later awakening up safely in the grasp of my betrothed
Who softly takes me away from this tiny luscious recall.