Fields At Sunset

I walk down a cemetery

at the edge of the wind.

A dusty brown raincoat

maybe grey.

A sanctuary with scraped walls...

Dried nests forever empty.

I walk along the place

of the inexistent depressing eyes.

Destroyed domes,

the carelessness of my house.

Master of ruins.

Only of them can I sing the praises

for the great splendour of death.

Death's angels...

Breath of wind.

Lamb of God.

Springtime sends its watering sun into these bounded

lands,

from windows nobody is looking through anymore.

Nobody. No more. Nobody is here any longer

Gathering left memories,

Wandering among the sick fields at sunset...

And the last money spent for pictures...

and crying,

while the air turns into pink

and the daisy remains in your hands so small

not even beautiful.

You live far away from human beings

and from time to time you appear

among them.