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teen poetry

la notte scorsa la luna piena ha posto un panno del bianco
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
bello
li prevedo
non brucio incenso
oscillato nella culla del profondo
sono il vento che esita
dal ponticello rude
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
se esso
corsa alto-sopportata
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco

 



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