LAST CYCLE © 2008
This dull gaze of men, that weighs and saddens,
Turns the world into a lament where light does not grow.
It becomes universal, like pods of pain,
A visceral, deep cry, without colour.
In buried suffering, rooted in the essence,
Of a bloom that life contradicts.
The universe’s opening, that one day will arrive,
Through the key of the secret that was dared to silence.
And, in the silence of that kept secret,
Resides the hope for a future illuminated.
Where the gaze of men will one day shine,
And the cry will become a song of peace, to arise.