quarta-feira, maio 06, 2009

Stop

Há dias em que me apetece fugir até mais não, mas sem correr, que não há forças para isso. Devagarinho… Na mesma, como a lesma. Para partir para outra.

E dizer “Agora não…”

posted by Phil @ 15:54

1 Comments:

At 11/5/09 12:35, Blogger Unknown said...

Friend by enemy I call you out.

You with a bad coin in your socket,
You my friend there with a winning air
Who palmed the lie on me when you looked
Brassily at my shyest secret,
Enticed with twinkling bits of the eye
Till the sweet tooth of my love bit dry,
Rasped at last, and I stumbled and sucked,
Whom now I conjure to stand as thief
In the memory worked by mirrors,
With unforgettably smiling act,
Quickness of hand in the velvet glove
And my whole heart under your hammer,
Were once such a creature, so gay and frank
A desireless familiar
I never thought to utter or think
While you displaced a truth in the air,

That though I loved them for their faults
As much as for their good,
My friends were enemies on stilts
With their heads in a cunning cloud.

Dylan Thomas - To Others Than You


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