Here Is The Land. Poem by Always Alone

Here is the land.
It is covered with fatigue.
The sees assume the shape of emptiness.
Meanwhile, I am a drawing scale for communication and departure.
Now, I am the expectation and the waiting for the impossible.
The other virgin bigoted me as a train and a bag.
The other virgin fed me rhymes, and then offered me exiles.
I was told thus. Then they asked me to leave.

You, the collection of axes, circles
And the stories of boyhood, keep the secret and the glory which hides between your breasts.
You care not for what was lost of my life.
I don't know what pushes me towards you.
What is it that makes me look sad,
when I get into bumming in the mirrors of your cheeks.
Don't worry.. Don't worry.

Upon these calm plains we fought
And were fought for years.
We recorded the harmony within the embryo passions. The sea, the resisting flood and the sail contained me.
What a girl that appears in my life as plains, settlements and castles.
What poured into your eyes something of the conflict tragedy?

The horizon extends emotions when it is passing this city.
Tell me. Do I look sad?
Am I the killer, the killed one and the hostage?
Am I the sea that feels not safe with the ship?
Hide me between the evening's walls.
Kiss me once each year.
I am eager to be born anew as a baby in your eyes; to wear the violet color; and to mount the shape of the identity.
The other virgin made me lose years waiting for the Magdalene.
Oh, only if she came. Only if she came from the depth of the seas and the core of waters,
Like departure, like expectation and the waiting for the impossible.

Here is the land. It is covered with fatigue.
And the seas assume the shape of emptiness.