Last Fall

I wish of a time,

that it's no more,

where music went up and down,

in one pure harmony,

flowing away like a river,

searching for its sea.

The world is cold,

one said,

but the only thing,

being went cold here,

is my soul.

The third hour called,

in a silent defeat,

as at the eighth,

the music will repeat,

slowly, calm,

calling me back,

to take back my smile,

to take back my own.

To come back a fighter,

and square up for all,

to fight for any tear,

that fell in time,

that still trespass my heart.