WHEN THE MOON IS HIGH

When the moon is high,

they tear me to pieces,

the enigma of the time to come

and the grief of yesteryear.

When the moon is high,

nil turns off the fire of my hurts

and the downgrade of the beat of my existence.

When the moon is high,

an esoteric entity,

originated by occult yesteryear,

goes me by.

Winging in the secrets of the atmosphere,

it gets to the shelter of imagination,

and crawls into my current minutes.

It is to the high moon

that I tell the wickedness of my day.

It is from it that I require mercifulness,

for those things I didn't do,

which I should have done, instead.

When the moon is high,

the soul is ever and ever a kid.

It doesn't yield to the time elapsing,

and I perpetually look inside it

for the small emotions of existence,

not to let them vanish drowned by sorrows.

It is when the moon is high,

that the enigma of the time to come,

and the sorrow of yesteryear,

they upset me.