Another Sad Tought of Middle Winter

Being sad,

remembering only to line-up my shoulder,

when a girl passes over.

I don't even care more about me,

watching love at what was back.

Left, left in a stupid storm,

only around simple toughts,

where nothing can be, more,

than a dream, off-shore,

from what my life had been.

Oh, it'll be no more now,

too older to be younger,

nothing to be happy at the mirror,

with a warning to wake up, too late, too far.

In this crowded solitude, I only hear screaming,

of some of me still trying to reach a dream.

A dream of a wish,

that is nothing more than dust in the sand,

going all far from me.

What I was, what I'll be,

they say now is what matters,

because it's the only moment when you can dream,

with your eyes open.

The pain, of watching a dress,

is something unsense, crushing to give up,

giving up all the non-sense in the belief in my head.

I don't understand more why,

thinking up in the sky,

why; why.

Why would I stop see the thing I believe,

feeling weaker on seeing pillars fall down,

fearing of losing what has been,

without realising it's already lost in the time.