Echoes

Echoes

The memories comes furious without compassion
It is like an early tomorrow without mercy
it is like a gallows,
do you remember when you were a human?
or anything?
have you ever been a devout?
have you ever been a criminal?
have you ever been a lover?
have you ever been a dreamer?
don't you know...?
but who really knows?

The memories comes without features,
Your teardrop is the artist's feather,
without sound,
your heart gives it the melodies
without history,
your sweat gives it the time,
it comes...
by the parades of the wheat and the seeds,
by swarms of the pigeons and the eagles,
by plaits flirted by the letters,
in eyes squeezed by liqueurs,
it comes with everything and does not comes in you!!!
so who are you?
The memories comes...and it is not like that,
because the memories have the title,
captured by two fingers,
by the paper imprint,
by the suffering of the wounds,
by the blue bleeding,
it pleads everything in you,
it admit that you are the origin, the life,
you are the hope, the salvation,
it calls you by last pray,
let me be a memory among your poems....oh my poet.