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There's a tiny man,
dressed in white
and snow-white all he has around,
who's cooking with colours,
the seed of an everlasting tree.

Flourishes the mind,
growing like no other plant,
extended root into the land.
While the sizeless alquimist
waits in vain for the fruit.

And all white becomes dark,
nothing left but narrow spiderwebs
crowning the naked scene,
taking all lights away,
opening the huge door.

And I'm still wondering if I should walk through it,
or stay another little while on this side.

Texto agregado el 25-06-2007, y leído por 112 visitantes. (0 votos)

Lectores Opinan
25-06-2007 It's not necessary i think. Time has spoken it's path to go away. ilanga
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