In air-raid shelters
of imaginary bombs,
you remained in mourning,
hidden from your own fantasy
for fear of living
an empty reality,
shallowly,
of false feelings.
In the dungeons of your mind,
where thoughts are the shadows of your storm,
you stay surrounded
by anguish on all sides.
In deserts of infinite extensions,
where your mirage is a farewell,
your pride is swallowed by sandstorms,
disappearing into the dust.
In ports full of berthed ships,
your boat is docked
on the left side of the pier,
isolated,
lost among ghost ships,
covered by fog
like a skeleton
in a watery grave.
Imagem de Virvoreanu Laurentiu por Pixabay