Perhaps now or tomorrow?

There are not any more movements, but one pause solidified by the years. Who run out slowly, irremediably. The face of death carved violently with the rage which a dog which bites. To run away themselves, protect themselves, escape. The rain and the wind Strike. Since so a long time that unrelentingly. The features of faces are erased indefatigably. There are nothing any more but forms remembering. Of their ultimate movement of front. When the light died out in the eyes of dying. At the moment when time was blocked. In a last will. The rock twisting, becoming deformed while metamorphosing itself. Under the blows of corrosive scissors. Steal the blade at the sharp edges. Shear iron in the internal organs of the stone. It was formerly, it was yesterday, so far now. In front of a handful of people moving away while crying. Remain, the layout, the forms of a symbol, the draft of a parabola. Changeable, fragile, slender.  There are not any more movements, but one pause solidified by the years. The complaint of all these torments. Standardized by seeing them. Weakened by fleeing them. It wants this there to run, to curse them. Carrying on them a certain idea of the end. Perhaps now or tomorrow?