IRC-Galleria

Wind rises from the sea
it plays with grass and bends trees.

For to beat the wind my life has been lately
to tack against it with half sails
but now beaten am I.

Obsessed with girls like white dreams
engraved to the perfect blue high up above
too distant, non-reachable
while I'm tied down with other earthy beings
with grass
with sand
with trees.

And I too am bent
by the wind of time
not about to cease
not about to give me even a short breath
to get on my feet again.

From now on I'll have to crawl

and I will
my friend.

I will.