Storie originali > Poesia
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Autore: hiccup    20/10/2014    1 recensioni
“Anno nuovo, vita nuova, giusto?”
“Speriamo siano trecentosessantacinque giorni unici, emozionanti, miei. Non chiedo altro”
“Si inizia oggi; con questo sole aranciato e con questo sguardo stanco, ereditato dal passato.”
[365 poesie per 365 giorni]
Genere: Generale, Introspettivo | Stato: completa
Tipo di coppia: Nessuna
Note: Raccolta | Avvertimenti: nessuno
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Dodici ottobre: what if?


Sometimes I just lie on my bed thinking about
All and nothing at the right same time;
I fear the daylight and the bright new day
Which will come the day after tomorrow -
Probably because it will bring another morning,
Another afternoon, another evening and
Eventually another endless night.

I fear the day.
I fear it in a weird and deep way
- maybe a little childishly too -
But I’m afraid to wake me up.

Often people use to worry about their night
And they struggle themselves with the doubt
They could even never wake up again.
They fear the mute Death. 
But I think there are worse things outside there.

Sometimes I just lie on my bed,
Among warm sheets and soft pillows,
Surrounded by the blackest darkness
The world could possibly see -
It’s two or three past midnight and nothing moves;
Beyond the window I can perceive the tickling
Of the rain against every single leaf of every single tree
And the little whispers of the wind between the naked branches:
can feel something, yes, but I can’t see anything. 

My eyes are my guides: what should I do without my sight,
With only two senseless and empty orbits. 
What if I get lost during my sleep?
If I lose my way, could I run away from my 
unconsciousness? 

Sometimes I just lie on my bed wondering about a future
In which I am not able to imagine myself -
Too many unanswered questions,
Too many worries,
Too many regrets.

I sigh singing in a muttered voice a little and small
Refrain of a forgotten and ancient song;
That’s a lullaby which gives me a sort of relief
And my hearts aches less. And so the night goes on. 
It flushes over my limbs, over my chest,
Among my pale fingers and then it crashes into my mind.

And there it stays: in the brain I have got the nightmares of a sleepless night.
And they follow me in my days, in my weekends. They hunt me.

I feel as if I could be teared apart by those nocturne footprints suddenly -
Taking my breath away.
That’s way I can’t sleep.
That’s way I tend to lie on my warm and wet bed
During these shivering night awake and with my eyes open
And my lips parted a bit in a melodious lyric. 

What if I fell asleep?
Will I stop thinking about all and nothing at the same right time at last?


 

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