by Giuseppe Termine
The Night is coming down from the hill along the fog thousand of white horses to the attack protecting the moon that still behind a cloud dense No lights only a few souls charging the heart for not to die
from the small houses awake drinking milk with bread in these first hours.
When the time portrays his long hands a reflection of the river that descends Sitting.
from what is only giving the last star to the last lovers. Silence.
An embrace that screams of joy and immense farewells talking with their eyes and hands imitating the colors of the mountain flower the rare ones from the field where they used to go, on that hill while, in the village below -the others are still drinking milk eating bread, just because it is Sunday. I
into the The time is perhaps,
Look there look at the sky full of flamingos. They are more than the clouds, today while this big sun is sinking lagoon. stopped it is just a memory.
We are looking at the sky greeting the endless, hugging, wriggling in the wind into the reeds into the silent bunkers of the war never, they never met the enemy remaining there like elephants old and tired looking the flat sea like us lulled by the gulf in the seasons while the sand is covering them year
maybe it could be sad to look now at the dark pine forest in the silence. Taking your hand, there are a lot of things to discover insideit and you will be surprised to know that now the flamingos are flying somewhere in Africa giving the same feeling lovers. II
is little between what
is below and what the Time you realize
not really that each
necessary instant is
to love when
in our hearts, between
are really to love
what is the
( lovers, the love in our
I love you) really difference between what
there is a little and our a
between a firm cold heart heart that beats forever
what we consider we ignore it, thinking to be as the most ignorant in the meantime are
( lovers, the love in our you) because
days where locked inside because itâ€™s raining outside and then going back to sleep under the warm blankets of time.
to taste those we are
I love you)
there is little difference and what is called
in a tender
Maybe, really is defined insanity
the levels of the Time
to feel us more protected ( lovers ,
Maybe, really difference
hearts sometimes souls III/1
leave our that our eyes get wet our mouths began to tremble our
bodies hands become so light only to increase the void dreams in our anxieties ashamed of
in our being alive.
which we are
( lovers, the love in our hearts I love you) Maybe I have to leave
tomorrow away from you- forever I
just want you to know that all instants that you gave me have filled my life
flattened the emptiness little by little
and my hands do not tremble anymore and my eyes no longer
until it has disappeared seek
( lovers .
love in our hearts I love you)
III Unshaped Poems 2014, London, UK ÂŠ Giuseppe Termine www.termineg.com