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BLACK ROSES FOR CHRISTMAS
BR251206
I like to chat with the rain, sometimes
it is like washing my thoughts from the past,
as God’s tears for my sins,
and follow the ants in their walk
as my search for peace in healing my soul
Away of gold coins of memories
heavy weight of ancestors
with frames buried under the rubble
fury of the earthquake’s fate
sinking of generations of descrimination and wealth
traditions broken for an special Love,
a beautiful mother of wisdom
with children of tenderness and morals.
But, one day in the Island of Joy and Fantasy
natural fireworks of lightnings
fell over the clouds
covering the sky with amazing sunset
of never unseen colours
the sign and farewell of the last chain’s link
the Father of the eight birds
flying in remote transparencies
making the History book
A bunch of Black Roses in Christmas
dreams were to sleep in the Heaven
