HANDS OF TIME
The hands of time bring sharp
The most diverse prey, tough claws
And when at the end, I try and if you loose
Dream more atrocious know stoves
Although dreamed of sunrises
Plotting firmly vain moorings
And over my dead body you spitting
In between dreams cravings shreds.
Shrouded luck without knowing
How much could take pleasure in
Nothing remains woefully
Otherwise the same face, hypocrisy
And the time it would not really
Marking time but more rugged.
MARCOS LOURES
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