LAST CYCLE © 2008

The fingerprint of the universe,

Crafted into a story in verse,

In the poet's report, the tears,

Overflowing the heart in a cloak.

The pain of the world navigates, incessant,

Also through this continent,

Where it writes in constant silence,

But the soul's cry is evident.

Little or nothing will change,

Some say that consciousness has perished,

Now lying on the altar, to rest,

While the world has forgotten.

You walk, convenience? Where are you going?

I, adrift, on paths without trail,

In hope that a ray will attract me,

And awaken in me the true child.

May it finally make me leave the nursery,

Rise as a man, without pretense,

And all that is temporary,

And don`t take the feeling away from me.

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