Fosse-me a carne opaca pensamento

Fosse-me a carne opaca pensamento
a vil distância não me deteria
e de remotos longes num momento
até onde te encontras eu viria.
Nem me importava que tivesses os pès
no ponto que é de ti mais afastado:
o pensamento vai de lés a lés
mal pensa no lugar a que é chamado.
Mas mata-me pensar que em mim não pensas
para saltar as milhas quando vás;
feito de terra e água em partes densas,
espero em ânsias o que o tempo traz.
Nem lentos elementos trazem mais
do que choros, da nossa dor sinais.

William Shakespeare

Light and shadow

It's where your light shines
That my shadow walks

How?

How can I have lost you
If I have never found you?
How can I have touched you
If these fingers haven't felt you?

The Darkness

Years and years of pain
forever have fallen like rain
All those months and days
forever they fell from the sky
They fell to the ocean of sadness
They fell to the sea of despair
ran up on the rocks of destruction
were lost and forgotten out there
Out there at the edge of reality
Out there in the sea of regret
they sailed out of life into death
Even death cannot live in this darkness
Even death finds himself all alone
What has been before
is a sonnetized fair warning
There is always room for more
The dark turns out the light
and there at the moment of clarity
there it will all fade away
Fade away into a nightmare
Fade away into darkness...

Da Dor

Na tua boca o sumo do meu sangue
Entre o vaivém da faca no meu pulso.

Contradictions

I want to give voice to the silence
Undress myself of the sounds
Awake up all the nights
Sleep the day light

Your Sea

I've rented a boat to your sea
To live in your strong waters
Penetrate me with your waves
Dry my tears with your salt .

Being your slave

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time* at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

W. Shakespeare, Sonnet 57

To be found

I've searched
never knowing what urged me

I've found you
yet always needing more

I've questioned
Never daring to believe you

I've answered
You weren't listening

I've cried
You were blind to my tears

I've hidden
You never tried to find me.