Puedo Escribir Los Versos Más Tristes …

Every day I struggle to
hold back the endless rains,
Bitter tides of sorrow that
come and go as clockwork,

Dragged by the strength of
our pale and lonely moon,
reflecting the weak warmth from afar,
Draining the dreams from

the hearts of pitiful creatures
living as hermits below,
Sipping on cold tea,
Forgotten hours before now,

Begging for the fires of day
to purge the darkness,
to purge the pain.

red moon


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