The sky threatens with a thousand storms. A grey arch
covers everything. Looking up to get sorrow in small doses… When the bells will
peal, souls will be dead already. In the kingdom of trifles, principles are
simple beggars.
With the upcoming sunset, cockroaches go out from their
holes and become tyrants with their black eyes.
At the same time, the young redeemer swears to be better
every passing second and the oracle confesses with a blue smile that all will
always be the same… the rules can’t be changed… it is not possible to dream. In
the meantime, it starts to rain. They are worn out drops from the regrets of pusillanimity…
drops that undo the spirits…
The legend says that it will come a day when the herd will
comprehend that it is not enough with bread and circus. But when that day
comes, it will be too late because the skies will fall apart and the end will
commence. Then, the true tragedy will
happen: the poor souls will persevere in their blindness. What an atrocity!
They will choose a corrosive and desolating union instead of the curing death.
Angels tried to show them the other way, but they got just outraged. Now, the
only thing left to do is to behold the dark color of their hearts. They were
given infinite chimeras. They were never deserving to be born: selfishness and
iniquity.
It will always be night. Stars and universe are sobbing because
they know that we will always be old and never dare to fight for our dreams.
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