The tram

Turn the horse-gear of the days and weeks stretching the months and the years in the same sorrow. On the repetition of a partition balancing itself between the rails of the tram. Carrying the given rhythm sequence of renewed waitings. Putting rhythm into the magic horse-gear captive of a single way. Each time repeated at the point not to look at more. Behind the pane life to be held. Nor the majestic decoration to be spread out. There is only truth to precipitate hung with the wire of a destiny. Transporting the disjointed puppets, dismembered to sway on the rails of the tram. Insensitive with the scents of moisture bathing the end of the day. Panic impatience giving in the middle its reason to beat. Precipitation to calculate wasted time, the hours wasted to immobilize itself. In waiting forced to fight. Ordinate by the metronome of rails twisting under the wheels of the tram. Never wearying itself to repeat. Each day without becoming exhausted the same way. Marking the repetition, hours and years. That all borrow into growing old, while exhausting itself to end up giving up. With the certainty that always will be similar while being present or absent, imagining the closed eyes. The moment when the doors open or will be closed again. In the softness of a beam solidified by its reason to exist. Hung with the clock of the time which likes to be repeated. That yesterday and tomorrow will be like today, slow and measured. Carrying waitings, the desires for precipitating. In the given rhythm rhythm being balanced between the rails of the tram. That one can like or hate. That nothing never will be able to stop. Make to live while being locked up on the parallel line of fixed rails. Does nobody know if the dream would not be to escape from it? Bringing madness, an open door on the imaginary one in order to fly away. Until elsewhere free and released. Immediately attached by this pressing need. That nobody would understand the lack of respect. Of this law which is punctuality. Making turn the horse-gear of the days and weeks stretching the months and the years in the same sorrow. On the repetition of a partition balancing itself between the rails of the tram. For always and forever.