A relief landscape in the fog
seems like my whole life.
Like turning back and looking
few peaks – moments alone stand out;
is what emerges from the fog;
it is what escapes from oblivion.
The mind wanders restlessly in the landscape
from the spikes that stick out
as those in the grooves of the brain slide;
the spikes are small, the spikes are long, the tracks are gone or deeper, sweet, bitter and the moments that come to life; only in these the mind stumbles and wakes up.
Pictures old, blurry, cloudy
with bitterness and with tears watered
that re-scratch my old wounds
and others beautiful, cheerful, happy
pride of the past ego
which they proudly display as compensation.
I don't know if it's worth looking back;
I don't know if I want to
eyes and thought to turn to the past;
I don't know if it would be better
everything had been covered by the fog
all had sunk into oblivion.
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