What were those birds that passed above
odd premonitions and old griefs?
Black birds that fled, a crow and dove,
guess were my marginal beliefs.
Two birds have passed, of color black,
straight arrows fled right before me,
Infinite trip on railway track,
transfers along sorrow for me.
Upon that train have sat the birds,
no passengers will go to stars,
only the emptiness of words,
that rhymes with unforgotten mars.
Unmoved the passengers in cars,
frozen's the engine pilot's gaze,
the train becomes soul's iron bars,
deathly advancement to sins' blaze,
The souls imprisoned trail along,
the train's odd destiny to nights,
that wait through nothingness' and wrongs,
our trip to reach infinite heights.
© 01-19-2013, Giorgio Veneto, All Rights Reserved