Out of Boredom...

We search for our eyes to cry, to hold our tears up there,
in the starving arms of our ghosts.
We look for the origins of light, during the day, to cry...and in our fleshly
memory reminisce.
We appreciate our bones, death seated next to us, to cry...
And he hide our voice, every night because we carry our own disgrace.
We hide our gaze under the wings of stones...
And we breathe easier than the mills of heaven...we are afraid.

Our body rips in silence
Like the skeleton in the anniversary of its death
It is to cry that we search the words of the heart
In the pit of the winds that pump in our chest
In the miracle of the breeze, full of our words

Death is screwed on life
The stars back away into infinity and the ships of the sea
The voices fade to black towards nothingness
Faces distance themselves in the forest of my nostalgia
And when the emptyness is empty under the irreparable aspect
The wind opens the eyes of the blind, only to cry...to cry...

No one comprehends our symbols, our gestures of love
No one understands the caged dove in our words
Dove of clouds and night
From cloud to cloud, from night to night
We hold at the door the long awaited the return of your eyes
We look into that hole, where those who are unborn move and dance...
That hole where the stare of the blind remain stable
It's to be able to cry, it's to be able to cry
because the tears must rain over the cheeks of the afternoon...
It is to cry that this life is so short
It is to cry that this life is so long...

J-Lopez...