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A desolate Sunday without your being,
lost in the tunnel of grey walls,
in the gloom, your name guides me,
a Monday in disguise, sad agony.
Clear night that without you has no brightness,
a blue day lost in destiny,
it rains absence in each heartfelt verse,
my banished forehead, latent pain.
Your soul next to the crystal cries and feels,
like sad water on my forehead,
I have understood the power of a word
that can raise walls without measure.
Small needle in the vast universe,
slight heart, immersed butterfly,
could undo the bright dawn,
evaporate gardens, radiant skies.
What a sad Sunday. 😊 @chrisrobert