The Gothic

by Sandro Kretus
(Brasil)

I am the poet of the dark
cropping in cold gardens
dead flowers
with pale hands

Am I being dark
who watches the night
with the look of a vampire
trying to find beauty
that lurks in every shadow

My eyes painted black
see what they can not
be seen
by mortal eyes

I am the night mist
ear of
gargoyles
the cathedrals

I wander in the dark skies
where the eyes of
crows
shine
the magical twilight


in the dark
see the light
few still
produces
and on earth where beings
day
creep
gently with plan
my wings
dark angel

My loneliness
devours the hours
waiting for the day is done
to fall on me
cover of night
where daydream
without arousing

My verses written
with blood
runs like a warm rain
in abandoned buildings
where I leave the lament of a world
ill
recorded


Disease left by beings
day
that destroy the world
with their impious rage
Who are the strangers?
Or are you crazy?


Leave me alone with my sorrow
because the left is crying
After all, someone needs to cry
then
it's me
being of darkness
Nosferatu

Let me light my fire
in the land of the dead souls
I lie down on the tombstones cold and pies
left by beings
of old

Let me sing
dark bowels
Close to me
the world is sick
maybe there is more healing
someone needs to cry
then it's me
being the dark night