Touch, life makes with us the beautiful work of playwright art; the drama, that Greek poem
to which from time to time it becomes.
The tension is that one, the main protagonist,
he suffers the fateful path he senses will end badly.
Weigh, to something good realized: how to discover the enigma
of the sphinx that killed those who crossed their path.
One suffers contempt, and one's own pain inflicted
the pain caused by the former partners is added.
I do not know what will have happened, or what will remain in the universe,
of each lived drama of each person in this world.
But some are beautiful, tragic works of creativity superior to that of the best artists.
And weigh, are there any strangers?
Where will the dramas go? Perhaps they die dramatically, they vanish without being caught by poets who do not see.
Or maybe what is your drama? Someday we will ask,
because we all pass some, and there, the soul is tested