The wither of my petal

comes as morning holds it's dawn in my hours of delay,
the greeting of a past that has ever lasted too long,
a actitude i am worth of, in the dark night of my poluted city,
the giant waves of sorrow can not dismiss
blows of deep wind take one..

happy songs do not lead the time around trouble; I keep it strait
to find 'still have a chance to work it out before sleeping
on the subject, 'n with ritim, 'might get to wake on the first light
of a new poet, unknown, named - so soon - as 'newday'.
blows of light wind take others...

surprised, my planted loves take me down, more than the bit bitter air
of last solitude. Others.. Each lost piece of heart falls like a soft card
to lie by the close-one's grass, in a game that moves with natural wits
the lasting wind got no leaf left.

by the end of that poet, i'm a naked promess
of a tender sweet yet to grow,
for every petal that's gone greets fertil Ideas,
by an old friend presence

to give birth...