I’m sure I can’t take it anymore,

I’m always tired.

I rest,

then I would like to go back to fighting,

with only a modicum of strength

that have returned to me.

But, I can’t go on like this.

I want to go to a place,

but it’s too hot

and it’s too far.

My conscience,

stops me,

reminding me, how hard it is.

Reminding me that my instinct,

sometimes, it doesn’t help.

 

I think,

while I pray to my fears,

to my paranoia,

to my wishes,

to step aside.

That sometimes,

peace is better,

of a fight.

That maybe,

there is no longer any need to fight,

to strive.

Maybe, they have to choose the others,

perhaps,

can choose this strange God,

that he sends signals.

Perhaps,

can you believe it,

for once,

in a miracle.

If you want read the original version 👉 https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/08/19/poesiamiracolo/

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