Holy thirst
You come from a distant dusk
that follows a lava flow
on a lonely accursed
horizon.
Returned from everything
along a path set
in the void, carved from stone
with vigour and tears,
weary, it reposes.
Enclosed in a mould
of moulded wax,
predetermined by the gods,
with the vapour, the heat,
the love and the sweat,
it melts and mists over.
Drawing me feverishly onwards
my soul, dragged and bleeding,
navigates without rigging, without any weapon
or sword to conceal my calm.
I navigate on the wings of a
boat with crystal anchors
that, roving, nourishes dreams
in a life of heavenly powers
that, from behind the scenes,
help us to row.
We seek a strong wind
for a life in constant
change, cleanly suturing
the wounds of life.
What an earth sown with doubts
we gather the fruits of the path
when young we fight
when old we surrender
to the light.
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