Poem 4

Poem 4

I'm here, lonely and awake,
with my eyelids sewn to the last of my dreams.
I'm an acrobat swinging on the thin rope
that unites our hearts.

I know that you will return, and you will bring your suitcases
full of old memories,
of siren songs that immutable
lose the sailor who never left his port.

The afternoon is a bore, I want to sleep but I can not,
Loneliness is a dagger that hurts me.


Image Source: Pexels


I'm an admirer of Pablo Neruda's poetry and Serrat's songs. Walt Whitman made me a path of Leaves of Grass, to reach the edge of infinity. Since then I am a citizen of the world.

Journal of an Alchemist
Journal of an Alchemist

Here I make my dreams

Send a $0.01 microtip in crypto to the author, and earn yourself as you read!

20% to author / 80% to me.
We pay the tips from our rewards pool.