PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I don’t want to be immortal,

I want to sit on the grainy edge,

with my eyes lost in the blueness,

with my bare feet covered by sand

washed by waves of salted water.

I don’t want to be immortal,

I want to walk the immense meadows

green, yellow, gray, colorful meadows

feeling the texture of the rainbow

in the nakedness of my tired feet

I don’t want to be immortal,

I want to walk the crowded city

while the sunlight between buildings

blends with the highness of my spirit,

caressing my skinless forgotten pain.

I don’t want to be immortal

I want the dryness of the dessert,

the narcissistic cactuses  

arrogantly showing their muscles,

to the immense lighted nothingness.

I don’t want to be immortal

I want black coffee and a book

while I see Victoria playing

boasting her unconscious innocence

before my finally pleased old mind.

I don’t want to be immortal,

I just want to smell a red rose

given to me the night before

by my finally eternal lover,

and get lost in the memories,

in the images of his beauty.

I don’t want to be immortal,

I want to walk through the fire,

slowly burning by the heat of time

steady steps, eyes in the horizon,

and at the end, just my iron heart,

untouchable, for once, forever.