To Allan

Eternal thirst is your assassin
For time ago you find no safe.
And locked you are,
My lonely brother,
In your icy, mortal grave.

It’s not a nightmare
And though you are a prayer
There’s no chance you run with life:
Reality is cutting with a knife
The ashes of your dreams…

It seems you are resigned:
You laugh and smile and joke –
A perfect mask but, hey, it pokes:
That hell you’ve swam within;
Your killingly eternal splint...

So, here you are,
You walk alone.
Alas, it’s not a stone
Your heart
And there shall be no ending of the rain
Your tears will be forever autumn pain…

Santiago’s not solution!;
Camino – revolution! -
Only if it’s in your soul!;
It’s hard, amigo, hard,
I know…