Poem 5

I've known the sad death
of the nightfall.
The majestic astonishment of the sunrise.

My fingers slipped through the
face of time,
rummaging through her hair
I met the agony of the evening.

Time is nothing more than that,
a word.
In the end there is only silence
and an emptiness full of eternity.


Image Source: Pexels

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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.

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