It's raining too much for a Monday
and I can't complain, destiny won't let me.
The cold will eventually come
with its searing humidity,
its depopulated bones,
its voice broken and badly injured,
its heartless experience,
and above all else, its scam.
Winter will walk on steely sheets,
cross forgotten bridges, leave its mark
on silence, take revenge on good fortune,
a lunar eclipse, what is born never to die,
restless hope that disturbs the senses,
that fragile image that sways in the garden,
(my heroes are unsettled).
It will fight to be triumphant
and dwell in my memory and in my dreams.
affecting my conscience.
I know, there will be no light to protect me
from Monday's loneliness, no distance
or impassable frontier.
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