Stirring around a pot without a ladle;

Paddling through the amazon without anything but a bare soul in the palm of my hands;

Rummaging through the forest like a desperate victim of a ravenous hunt;

And the brawl keeps rolling in,

Like the waves keep turning out,

Slowly but unpredictably;

Torcherous walls crumbling in the superfluous grip of withered fingers,

Like roots with no historical reinforcements,

Uncovered, vulnerable, safety nets failing;

Cliffs gain a different power_ oppressive;

Fields of dreams suffocated by a million sighs,

Peering into the future where there is no end to be found;

Lost developes sensation, solemn disbelief, 

Yet another joins the voice of incertitude.


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