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Penetration

The mountain peak is penetrating the sky,
That lead sky, hidden behind the indigo clouds,
Tapping with its shade the rain shower,
Which beats the world of emaciated feelings,
Those feelings keeping the encroached souls
In a mesh of life without hope
And in a framework of themselves.

The sky is penetrating the mountain
In its valley's green depth
To the place, where
The life's last illusion flows
In the middle of the chasms,
Where the running water galvanizes
The gold silence,
Weary wandering seemingly to nowhere,
Trying to vanquish its metamorphosis
In the time sight
And on the time ear.

The echo of its sound
Is penetrating a new spring in its own,
When the absence of the old one
Means not forgetfulness,
Unlocking the ubiquitous meanders,
Making the rain to shine.
The cold gray stones
With their arms and their breasts
Are freaking the pick of their thoughts,
The strength of their iron veins
And their paradoxical conundrum
Like a voice, which is still alive,
Or like a mysterious touch.

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