Drowing High

Its Just About the Sorrow
That blinks over a lighthouse
Or maybe its just about
The lonely
loneliest
Landscape
of that single mother
just hearing the sound of the cops
down there
on the cold streets of her block

Its just about that instant
when the mother looks at the void
and drink her coffee, passing the night
besides the autumn
watching her daughter sleep
That kind of
windblow.

That kind of Drow
On that kind of White Desert
of concrete
and dreams

Warm sounds of green leaves
And the smell of the fresh watermelons of January
and the sweet flavour of Watermelons
Far away on the memories
far away
over a beauty hill
somewhere
Running as childs
while watching
her daughter sleep

While watching
her most beautiful smile
Grow
against all the autumn
against all the cold

While huging the smell of the memory
and the Quiet warm
of her dreams, on a crimson january day

As the night
Drows high.