Almost

Still worse
No conviction 
uncertainty
perhaps disillusionment
of one almost.

Almost
It bothers....saddens...kills
bringing everything
that might have been
and was not.

The one who almost won still plays,
the one who almost passed still studies,
the one who almost died is alive,
the one who almost loved did not love.

Enough to think
about opportunities
escaped for the fingers,
in the chances that are lost by fear,
About ideas that will never go out from paper
for this cursed mania of living in the autumn.

I wonder myself,
sometimes,
takes us choosing
a lukewarm life; or better
do not wonder,
Question...
Answer I know of color,
Printed in the distance
coldness of smiles,
in tweakness of embraces,
in indifference of  "Good morning",
when almost whispered.
Cowardice and deficient courage
left even to be happy.

Passion burns,
love goes mad,
wish betrays.

Perhaps good motives
to decide between joy and pain,
to feel nothing,
Virtue in compromise,
Sea would not have waves,
Days would be darkened
rainbow in tones of ash.

Does not illuminate anything,
do not inspire,
do not afflict,
do not abate,
Enlarges emptiness
inside you.

It is not faith
that moves mountains,
even if all stars are in reach,
Things cannot be changed
patience remains
only however,
to prefer prior defeat to doubt
of victory
to waste opportunity..
for being worthy.
for mistakes there's  pardon;
for failures, chance;
for  impossible loves, time.

Nothing advances to enclose a heart
discharge or
to sympathise soul.
A novel
whoose end is instant
or does not end
is not a novel.

Don't leave...
longing suffocates,
routine accommodates,
prevents fear from trying.