Sitting in the room with her bedside book,
She hears the Silence of abandonment...
Solitude was made to be her cry and order
Or perhaps to be lost in thoughts and restrict
into simple variants memories...
But Solitude have accompanies as a friend
That captivate and shelter her,
At same time, hurting and bringing tears of nightmare...
Is she the own Solitude or own existential vacuum?
Or was under confusing dreams and desired changes?
She does not believe in the existence,
Only when close her eyes and crosses into gray colours
with the view of those who always longed to see...
But everything is fleeting as the train she sees on TV
Everything is variant, as the shelter of Solitude too ...
(Joyce Martins)
