Gustavo Cunha

English poem V

Just my being being a self-reflection
 
Of what once was a far away dream not
 
Dreamt but dimly thought-of. My soul intertwined
 
with illusions of half-hurting joys of long.
 
 
Away from pulchritude over a thin ledge
 
There lies a hopeless multitude of
 
Short-sighted woes not forsaken but loomed.
 
Thy secret hours secretly struck its end.
 
 
What weighs on my wistful consciousness
 
Doth resemble that blissful age lost in time,
 
Ruthlessly carried away by phantoms of old.
 
The bulk of my being always yearning for being disclosed.