Let us hope the old days have eroded
The days of some age,
But at home a present sadly enters
The house called happiness.
Those with mercy shall cure the blind,
Choosing their wrapped friends,
Citing prizes and complaints.
One is full of concern for the youth
Loss is in a rose that withers and wilts
Due to sudden stresses that subside;
My heart sank to my ankles when
Old days came back with indulgence,
To enlarge the sun is an apt task,
Adapting to its glare we steer the oars
Of our fit bodies that artfully collide.
Headaches of an aged man are thick and thin,
They live together with sound appetite,
Abhorring the stage that sets in after the rests,
A jolly memory sinks into place with reposes
I must disallow the purple blood,
Peppers are not making this turn,
For a kingdom would shun from the thought,
After igniting the substances that disembark.
I behold an angel in the end
I solve my life from the end
I sell a story in the middle
I laugh a little when I died
Dignity, the price of pain, will flash and burn
Inside the hells and heavens, forcing the physics
Of our lives, when we were in this world.
Some of our limbs are bones encased,
The soup of my voice frees the one
Who consumes tastes of a reality that truly
Begets tremendous stories,
Visions are published by the rumours
But, where is the prison for me?
I see light through a window of my own making,
And my tasty food enchants beings
Who stammer in their speech.