MY LYRE

To sink your bare feet into the flowing river, or to gaze at the moon, is anger.

Life itself is conflict, for me who am a rebel and the opposite of everything. So I go against the current, like a man who in the calm of a sunset began to scream.

So I will always wander with my mind out of phase and the furious thought of one who cries out to be heard.

So I will walk in the shadows or under a fiery sky with a parched throat and an explosion in my heart.

Until one day, I will stop my step under a willow tree, to once again seek the strength to hang up my lyre.