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Writer's pictureAndrea Sangiacomo

A minor

I’m a tune in A minor,

Dark blue, foggy, without words,

But a vibrant tone that leaves

No doubts: let me cry, let me 

Say that I’m weak and broken

—and that is not the problem.

The problem was the heavy

Smile, the radiant mask, happy

Voice, the rest of the farce.

So much beauty in darkness,

God can’t see nor understand

It—but you? Light makes blind

The soul to its own shadows.

Do you hear them? They sing still:

A simple tune, A minor.




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