Between the Towers

Far above, the swirling winds
suck free hopes of the ground.
In the heights they see a
future of painted red fronts.

Beneath the tower view,
A stream of smoke drifts
away with longing dreams,
Passed from lone shape in the square.

The dreams talk of the air and
of the birds, lost in flight,
Without chain or cage,
Formed in groups, against open sky.

Far above, the swirling winds
suck free hopes of the ground.

In the heights they see a
future of painted red fronts.

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