When the moon is high,
they tear me to pieces,
the enigma of the time to come
and the grief of yesteryear.
When the moon is high,
nil turns off the fire of my hurts
and the downgrade of the beat of my existence.
When the moon is high,
an esoteric entity,
originated by occult yesteryear,
goes me by.
Winging in the secrets of the atmosphere,
it gets to the shelter of imagination,
and crawls into my current minutes.
It is to the high moon
that I tell the wickedness of my day.
It is from it that I require mercifulness,
for those things I didn't do,
which I should have done, instead.
When the moon is high,
the soul is ever and ever a kid.
It doesn't yield to the time elapsing,
and I perpetually look inside it
for the small emotions of existence,
not to let them vanish drowned by sorrows.
It is when the moon is high,
that the enigma of the time to come,
and the sorrow of yesteryear,
they upset me.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Mauro Montacchiesi.
Published on e-Stories.org on 10/26/2016.
More from this category "Love & Romance" (Poems in italian)
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