The Sunday Mass

You'll see the world from above some day and you'll tell that it wasn't meant to happen.
You'll break your vows and turn away to run because you fear opportunities.
Wherever is a door there is always a perspective
so now the grass moves slower, breaking the natural dance.

Ever since you climbed that mountain you'll be mourning for everything you'll loose in the way.
In the top of the hill, the cities where you had lived will look smaller.
Memory will loose its sense,
and then you'll understand you had never
owned anything, you're free

I'll be home waiting for you as I did all these years knowing
sometimes you suddenly need to disappear.
I did it many times before and nobody comprehended.
I'll be here for you taking care of the flowers,
begging my brain every morning to take care of my body,
to learn to fill your voids.

I know descending is way more difficult than climbing.
But covered in awareness there is no
chance to get lost -
and you'll come back home though
the entrusted task is so fragile and you don't want anything to change.

I won't expect you to bring the wrecked vows back.
I won't expect you to come as new man holding the dark of the nights
and promising me an everyday life.
I won't expect that you had cleaned the mountain searching for answers.
I won't expect you to bring a word for my uncertainty.
I'll be waiting for the present as I have learnt to behave.

Bring your body home like it had never contained a powerful soul.
Bring your body to me to aling our pulses and timings and make life
a beautiful landscape to watch from the aging viewpoint.

I'll keep the peace, years haven't passed since we separated.
You'll cross the door ajar as I have demanded, nothing in your hands.
It is clear that there were fantastic moments in the oasis we neglected.
You'll warn I have removed some furniture and that the young expectations
had turned down some walls. House had look emptier since I moved in me.
But it didn't change to remove you, I just made you more room to live.

There will be nothing fancy or new but wash your hands because everything you do
from the moment you'll get in will become past,
time falls and becomes linear.
I'll keep the unmade bed and you'll jingle softly what you had learnt from the hills,
were you had freedom and forgot limits.
I won't pretend to be your mountain neither a shelter,
but if you want to build then it will be - and I'll be -
all yours.