Last

My past is only seen in dry roots, which one day gave life to the body of the wind with sweet letters, there is only a crack in my walls of my soul without seeing the rising sun.

My path is only in the simplicity of a lifeless black and white photo, it is only the past, my soul seeks the stairs to the present with fear of surreal life.

Sad past leaves me returns to my memory, illuminates my stairs to freedom, breaks the chain of my fear, let me feel for the last time a rose with a thorn in my hand.