Blind Justice

My plan was to wait a few years
With my eyes closed

until memories converted themselves

into fine anecdotes;

Then let the swarm of emotional turmoils

and half-accidental snapshots

be seduced  by  impulsive oblivion;

Sooner than later they will all be absorbed

and hopefully able to smile 
backwards

in front of a Venetian mirror.

Living through more winters than summers

should be a fact, not a dividing ordeal,

or an agonizing act of greed 
to fall prey to 
or to obsessively re-play at night.

In the loud, bright wilderness,

a planted seed finds its fertile rest, 
Nonetheless, it grows its own firm roots

underground, in the dark silence.

Light never gives us the right

to receive any real answers,
So tell me, 
what are the odds to even the horizons?