From everything that has passed in my hands
I’ve kept a little dirt
I don’t want to be clean, don’t want to be rid
I still bring my palms to my nose
Close my eyes and think of a life
A time once, times, twice
That I want back, that I can almost believe
My sweet, my breath, my music
As if death had claimed your presence
Alive in my dirty palms
I trace your face with my tears
The outline of a world in dust
This is just incredible. It makes me hope to never meet you: I would have ideas about somebody who can write these lines…
Great work !
The omen of war,
Signs of times left unsettled,
Though the blood washes away
The stains remain engrained.
Never forget where you came from, or what you have been through. Those wars make you who you are today.
perrasite: merci c’est très gentil 🙂
moonwart: beautiful words. thank you for reminding me, making it ok to keep the stains.
Amazing words. You are an incredible person.
Chris
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