In the Freedom
of your arms, night,
I find peace -
neverlasting.
Your wishes
stir my soul:
to create, to write,
to rest in peace.
In the warmth
of your embrace,
life is mutable:
filtered into a beauty,
I didn’t know exist.
We are all junkies
of the feelings you provide:
in factories, in narrow streets
scarcely bathed, light,
in the beauty and poetry of a lamp post.
We surrender at your feet;
we forget death; we forget life;
we forget ourselves:
our fears,
our demands, our mights
and we serve you
unconditionally.
“And so
from hour to hour
we ripe and ripe.
And then
from hour to hour
we rot and rot.
And thereby hangs a tale.”
Marco Aurélio and his friend William.