Petrarca loved Laura
and Dante Beatrice...

It was not a death wish
rather for respite a loud cry...

We worry about swords
guns and of mass destruction weapons...

On the hills of long time ago
we have now buildings and houses...

Have the living
already died...

It’s night
If I look at my day...

The train goes forward
cities grow larger and...

Like a grain of sand
I’m looking at these mountains...

Has anyone seen make up without a face
upon a faded body...

What is it that makes one feel
like wine exploding in a barrel...

Slowly with the sleepy night
advances silence...

Beautiful though terrible times
we worked so hard to leave behind...