The same palms who gave me shadow,
turture me....
palms so soft, full of desire...

Untouchable now,
So hard, so full of pain,
Like meaning in the rain...

The act of reading myself,
will take me nowhere,
the fact of reading my palms,
will hardly change the time...

Because I was born perfect,
With a mission of perfection,
And them I had nothing,
Besides hope,
And all the dreams of the world....

And palms got old,
Getting dry just like the dreams,
And the's not the same,
The touch got no feeling, no sense,
no love...

The touch, was just lost,
That touch,
just don't wake me anymore,
and the lost of all touch,
sudenly is a mark of a change,

Still I want the scars,
The hard feeling of you touch,
The sweet dry of your palms,
And the peace and smile of our souls.

by Carlos Aragao

Comments (17)

Fak you all BITCHES
Well written poem Sylvs
I have a vision to write like this, only if god would bless me enough to.u
One of my favorites!
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