And yet, I had so many other things to say
I said so few, I had to chew!?
Why did I even had that soup?!
I could have gone till late at night,
with words of soul and heart of might,
I might have even told you all,
that's been a past
or what I hold,
all that I'm still afraid...
I fantasize, or wish, or hope...
...or all that's of deep joy to me!
Though words are nothing but conventions,
mere fuckers of easy disillusions...
Yet, still, each one of us,
gives right away a meaning...
in line... - or not... - with actual intentions!
Ty magic windows
As they have really
of what it was,
of what might be,
of nothing yet,
but maybe most
This second, that's already passed,
And each at last,
In new, yet old
Trs. Hnsty. Jy.