At the end of the white road

At the end of the white road. There is this ruin. All at the top of the hill. There, where we will lie. Eyes turned towards a tormented sky. The stuck body. Plated hands. On a ground ground enters of the collapsed walls. To Feel to knock the slow heart of a deep past. To Listen, vibrate, cries of the children. Oaths of their parents. To Imagine time. Where the castle on the hill was not ruin. To Intend to breathe, between its stones, the breath of hearts which intertwine, undo themselves. To Believe that they flew away. For another elsewhere. Towards a better world. Far from these broken walls from where they were rejected. At the end of the white road. There is this ruin. All at the top of the hill. There, where one comes to seek the hope. From one moment of peace under the one evening old stars. Our steps imprisoned by the fog. Trapped Miners by this feeling more nothing to see. On the white way. With the low head the penitent ones. Wrapped coats of the hearts of the past come to accompany us. Us to protect. Hand in the hand. Like them in a remote morning. We have advanced. Inserted in the large forest. Until the edge. Leave under the weight of a tormented sky. As this day when the castle blazed up. Leaving calcined beings. The stuck body. Plated hands. On a ground ground enters of the collapsed walls. Did they fly away? For another elsewhere? Towards a better world? We lay. On the ground enters the collapsed walls. To listen, vibrate, cries of the children. To like the oaths of their parents. To seek to know. By closing the eyes. By boring the vault of the skies. With this hope. To see them happy.