No Fim Dos Meus Sonhos

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O fim do dia é rasgado.
E tal como uma incerteza perspicaz.
Vivo um sonho fugaz.
Eu vejo-me preso e ofuscado.

Acordo pela matina.
E repito a mesma rotina.
Preso na minha confusão.
Estou sempre numa difusa contemplação.

Qual é a diferença entre comer.
Ou dormir, fará isto sentido?
Será que posso chamar isto de viver?
 É como se eu estivesse perdido.

Será a idade ou este isolamento.
Que estão a me deixar dormente.
Tenho até perdido o temperamento.
Sinto-me como se estivesse num sonho deambulante.

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