Devastated in loneliness
intoxicated with essences of the past,
wails from souls that fell in sadness
and drops -in the middle of the night-,
of a depressing shooting star.
With a full moon like its witness,
on the edge of a clear lake,
barely audible, a beating heart waits.
Waits for the sunrise or the sunset
or the beginning in an end;
between utopian feelings and rationalist thoughts
it is waiting for reviving itself.