The Wait

Remembrance, oblivion, fear and serenity find themselves
on the same ground, in a strange ghatering of images: an
old man is caught between the will to survive and the desire
of leaving everything behind.
Thinking about the past he realizes that his time is coming,
greeting his life and the whole universe, so if he were
actually conscious of the fact of having existed, and existing
still: in a realm of violet twilight he smiles and unleashes
all his thoughts, playing with the four fairies on his bed.
Words can shape what I cannot touch and see
No reason, no reason, no reason for you to erase lives.

Nothing we have but this love
hate, hate bled from privation
With heart pregnant I can only create my soul.