Lovesick Sunset

“ This evening, it’s raining, as never before;

This evening is sweet. Why shouldn’t it be? 

It is dressed in grace and suffering; it is dressed as a woman”

Don’t know where he found the strength to finish it up, to move away from her arms absolutely free, dealing with his own luck, laughing at his chances and the dust he carry. At the end the backlash of his struggles, end up inside, dammed up within, leaving blows and cracks and lots of pain. Don’t know, it confuses a hell lot. The roads he traveled, the people he met and the places he visited giving him absolute meaninglessness, just like the words that slipped out of the tongue. To hide from all, lost and trashed inside out, leaving all the miracles of being a man, to be in absolute peace, to be with the hidden truth; where should he dig his next?  The lovesick sunset, was so damn weird.

“With so many feet the poor thing, and it cannot even sort itself. And, seeing it astounded in such a moment, today that traveler has given me such sorrow.”

The dark furrows inside, waiting for the right time to gulp each other. The two folded man, the real and unreal times it drags him out of the way, the exclusiveness it spread within. But the love at hate burns the other half, took him away from the bliss, from the vision he had. The river of confusion doesn’t exist. A flow; a movement is life. He is his invisible ego searching for the absolute reason. He found it many times, within her skin, inside the soul.  Her green heart, wild soul and the taste of her lips was just another unconscious. The pain was his hidden poetry. No one can feel it, no one can heal it.  It’s an absolute organic shit.

...And man . . . Poor . . . Poor! He turns his eyes, as when a slap on the shoulder calls us; he turns his crazed eyes, and everything lived is dammed up, like a pond of guilt, in his gaze...

The redemptive roads took him away, from the unwanted sorrows. Her love was just another heraldic lark. For his unattainable mission has yet to begin, he should laugh now. He should laugh at all the heroic bullshit happened so far. And he should realize that it’s just another game of fear that tickle the reality. The right time is now; the right time will take it, the right will spoil and at the right time, he will find himself in the middle of nowhere without the soul without any mass.  For the right time coming, there exists a distance between the equal halves.  Dear eternal beloved, for the distance that you kept between, for the love that seems unreal.  He will come to see you passing through the wind that betray the path.   He will be estranged with his untouched mellows. Today, he will eat his sorrows. Tomorrow he will eat his worries. And the days coming after, he will eat himself and his steadfast blindness.  He laughed a hell lot, unable to cry.  The street; the road; the pain and the hidden madness.

...What will you be doing at this very hour, my sweet  Andean Rita,
 Of the wild reed and the dusk berry; 
Now that Byzantium smothers me, and that blood dozes
Like insipid brandy, inside me.......