Wings Of The Freedom

I am a wounded bird. I got used to fly high Without route without destination I learned to be independent derrepente I am not more nothing I feel myself sad I feel myself weak I have wing and I cannot fly I was quetinha looking at for the sky Knowing that my life Never more would be same Until derrepente me appeared an idea the Half insane person, mazoquista perhaps But that returned the hope Beat to my well strong wing With all the force to me that inside remained of me My body already was bathed in blood a pain insuportavel But nor thus I gave up Derrepente I eat that for a miracle to reerguer I obtained me, I flied well high well far to contain I did not obtain me of as much Derrepente happiness I was falling already I did not have forces. I killed my homesickness and I died in a few seconds..

| June 30th, 2012 | Posted in General |

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