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-ecclesiastes of Job-
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Of despair my heart is bleeding,
Something wrong must have happened today,
Pieces of breath, frozen singing
Memories searching their way.
No more, no shore departing,
No dreams to brag about,
Cowards and dogs shouting,
Swans never flying south.
Tender whatever with roses,
Bitter garment of thorns,
Open which nobody closes,
One good for a thousand of wrongs.
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I told you that morning, mother,
I do not want to be born,
To be the next; another,
Boring duty to mourn.
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