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Time, brother to the pain of all loves gone
by Luca Dombré
Time,
brother to the pain of all loves gone,
father to my shame of all lies told.
Your light
splinters into millions of
blasts moving forward from the past,
fast,
roaming through the shade
till its rays cast a blowing blessing
for a soul regretting
those kids yelling in the backyard.
Time,
directing the deeds
of a doomed dying will
split into the illusion of freedom
and the spark of the ego
that brightens a sentence of grief
and struggles to keep some glorious belief.
Why?
Master of the colourless skies
where the sound knows no expansion
nor the universe any dimension,
and for which my yearning dies
everyday, every while
absorbed by the worms
of a useless inaction.
Time,
I wonder to which revelation you lead
all the good men's awe
and the mean hearts sold.
I ask myself what compensation you keep
for all lonely tears shed in the cold.