Flores do Sol

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A gente faz promessas. Se lamenta. Sorri. Vive. Quer. A gente vira sombra. Caos. Espera. Rima. Vento.
Desespera. Olha para dentro de si mesmo e nem se enxerga. Espreita. Caminha. Ama. Pensa. Desequilibra.
Foram-se os anos, e a velhice me parece redundante. A gente cansa. E embora seja honesto e queira o melhor para si e para os outros, existe quem pense que foi jogo sujo. A gente se ilude.
E o sol continua a brilhar. Resgata-me.
Imagem: Sunflower 40. De Frank Hunter. Daqui.

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