The night falls,
The darkness waits for its turn to be heard and listened,
The solitude needs room full air without the trace of living smell,
The time stops giving warning signals, red- amber or green nothing moves.
As soon as the soul raises her head to speak the phone rings.
The unchallenged, infirm forces win,
Underneath the floral duvet Echo of the body ache measures the weight of the tenacious day,
A pill and a sip of water knock all the senses,
A dream, an experienced nocturnal healer shuts my eyes,
I wake up with regrets
The morning is unforgiving for Killing a poem last night.
February 2013
