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 
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?

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