What will be the last song?

The last words on lips?

Shuffle the files of music’s magic memory

There is a spot,

not on earth but within.

Where lives dream something that feels so old,

that feels brand new,

something the creator drew.

That is all I am,

that is all you are.

Not far from here I have slept under her stars,

the ones that take light years to reach us,

teach us,

distant land,

distant man,

distant sand.

What last thing can ten thousand, eight hundred and eighty eight songs say?

What can I say?

For years I’ve tried,

listening to the winds reply to jump into her…

Step to the wind

that which changes,

that which we breathe

I used to leave youthful riddles

but now in the middle I cant be so bold.

Can’t give to one more then hands can hold.

I’ve slept in places it pours like rivers in floods.

Dripping down cave walls,

dripping down urban sprawl,

dripping down in striped malls.

It has been a second,

a moment,

an infinity,

since I have walked in poetries path.

It has been a first that I walked in candle wax.

Who will cry more?

Who’s sky will rain?