Can You Wash Polos With Your Hands

Sea and Sand

"... And I'm sitting listening to the sea
narrator of wisdom and poems to remember;
silent prayers, my words away
syllables dormant in slow wave motion;
but the sea read my silence and translates
would like God when you do not need the voice;
I draw from the well of life still dark clouds,
will accompany me melancholy in the evenings.

... And the sun burns the sky and my fate
while splitting between the dark clouds around the corner;
s' break the skin curls of salt,
the hand of my heart after the storm,
gather on the sand pieces Future
I turn back and leave footprints that do not care;
footsteps of clock, the ticking of a time gone
or maybe a time to slide s' is forgotten;

digs ... And the sea in this pile of sand
under my feet, almost angrily
tears in my eyes as they dug
leaving only frozen ground;
gives me, the sea, a canvas,
I have to draw
pages of a lifetime and I have to paint;
but every trace of pencil, black and white,
vanishes abruptly on a framework tired;
cloth canvas, he hold a piece
give the new form, the bend of the jet;
becomes a boat, a boat in the sea
in there my heart can navigate.
The adage, smiles, seems happy
the boat is pushed by a gust of wind,
a beacon at night will show the route
while the heart, exhausted, try to sleep.

... Meanwhile, sitting in front of the 'brown
ripping my soul I try to sew,
needle and thread, I know that might not be enough
to make holes for themselves ragged day for nearly a year;
but the silence has taken a different sound,
I remove stones from his chest, lightens the mind ...
I wonder if the boat left adrift,
'll never see a port, one day, docked,
but fears living inside of me
to play every game harder
new pain and the game will be made:
to my heart, mate. "

Sabrina (Sunday, May 30, 2010)

Calabria Ionian photo of Lisa T. (my daughter) from my web album: Landscapes of
sea.