PRISONER OF TIME 2 © 2008

The past is barefoot memories,

That walk on trails of longing,

Sticking on the stones of recollections,

Wounding the present with their intensity.

Each step, a silent pain,

Reviving what has already been lived,

And the wounds, always open and anxious,

Are echoes of a time never forgotten.

In the twists of time, memories stumble,

Barefoot, feeling the cold and hard ground,

And even when they try, they do not hurry,

For the past is a dark terrain.

But it is in these wounds that we grow,

In the pain that shapes our essence,

And even though the past pricks us,

It is part of our existence.

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