When the moon is high,
they tear me to pieces,
the enigma of the time to come
and the grief of yesteryear.
When the moon is high,
nil turns off the fire of my hurts
and the downgrade of the beat of my existence.
When the moon is high,
an esoteric entity,
originated by occult yesteryear,
goes me by.
Winging in the secrets of the atmosphere,
it gets to the shelter of imagination,
and crawls into my current minutes.
It is to the high moon
that I tell the wickedness of my day.
It is from it that I require mercifulness,
for those things I didn't do,
which I should have done, instead.
When the moon is high,
the soul is ever and ever a kid.
It doesn't yield to the time elapsing,
and I perpetually look inside it
for the small emotions of existence,
not to let them vanish drowned by sorrows.
It is when the moon is high,
that the enigma of the time to come,
and the sorrow of yesteryear,
they upset me.
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Mauro Montacchiesi.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 26.10.2016.
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Mehr aus der Kategorie "Liebe & Romantik - Liebesgedichte" (Gedichte in italienischer Sprache)
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