About the beauty

And all that was left was less than myself.

With a poor broken soul

What am I? Mist of sorrow

Wandering among yours might selves

Making the lusts of lights my companions

Fooling around with nowhere sounds

Wondering if my attempts break real bounds

Of if they are just assiduous minions

Of loneliness that is my true nature

Words and words collected by me

To sing the world, but never for me

So my tears in my face, itselves, moisture 

In the deepts of my sweet glimpses 

Where I still hold my secret wishes

My untamed wishes containing the feathers

Of the stars, the fallen ones that turn into birds

And show us the very essence of the beauty: 

The fall!

By: Bruno