Ita: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/13/poesiasconosciuto/



everything is uknown,

our future,

isn’t something we own.

We don’t catch it,

it’s like it was made of smoke,


we look at it, like it was a joke.


so uknown,

so unreliable,

so incomprehensible.


We can’t predict,

how what happens to us,

will direct us,

will project us.

Many answers,

remain in the uknown,

and we feel more and more alone,

with hearts made of stone,

we’re so fast, grown.

But still,

I know,

if thet knew the real me,

if they knew my real heart,

they’d love me, as is real this earth.


It’s how I save

Everything i breathe.

So, how you think

The future?

How do you imagine,

its structure?

How do you tell it?

How do you hope it

To be?



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