In the circles of prematurely lost chance you let your glance go.
In the melody of moon and in the dry images of a night city you invent your freshness.
Lights on in the houses. The night is the same as the one before.
Only Beethoven touched our hearing.
As moonlight sonata finishes sweet and fainéant so shall finish our trip.
Without ruffles and wild cries. Simple and beautiful as we lived.
Conciliated with our darkness's, in love with our wounds....devoid from the unnecessary load of daily routine, dreamers and unapprehensible.....suspects for ever in the eyes of logic....traitors of obedience and timelessly madly lovers.
In the sweet fortune letting go ourselves hoping.....and sweat our words....and there isn't anything that we can not expect....and there isn't another love except yours
Note: written inspired by listening moonlight sonata
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem