zelliot

Pin en blanc

Slowly upward the silent crests,
There or is the edge white with the world,
Four archangels, free species walk.
Against the sky ...... roll ......
They walk towards a stage,
Towards a small coffin, where a child must be.
He was so tiny.
...... Nevertheless, you had loved a God.....
A God could not ever make a tour of Child
And close him in this isolated shell
And to leave him forever in the Infinity, and the silence,
And the night.
It is finely raining over this summit,
This coffin of black is carried by strangers
And it y there inside a small pitiful lie
Of the body of a god, who carried and thinned,
Withered as the tired-looking petal of certain flowers,
Until he is more evident to carry him top.
The silent and painful faces are low in the pain,
In the color.

AMETESIA