tried hoping to find, but maybe I have not found any solutions to problems to the attention of feelings. I believe in life as in a special preservation of my soul, born as pure, delicate flower. Then cut from evidence and expectations - the expectations, the worst of evils - the largest one, the essence of life, the disappointment experienced in front of so many closed doors, oh, life has so many! And not just the maturity of years like stones on our shoulders and reason to help us define the composition of a circle that does not come back. That is not death! the time and place of mystery, uncertain and misleading, implacable enemy of every creature, uncertain and risky as a fierce and cruel wildlife pretending to sleep. Its flow does not perceive it, it still lurking in the mesh intricate of life, deceive us, it seems to pass ever, but when we look back we see that any more time, slow and timely manner, increased as indifferent to the beating of wings. life lived so far seems just giving love neglected perhaps too good for cowardice, a defense to warm our melancholy against the night cold. There's so cold that s'avverte in advancing years and the flow of time, life is but a set of ashes that dissolve in the wind, but the flow remains a perennial river. There is bitterness, disappointment and despair. But is not this life that often puts us in the face of human wickedness? Life must be lived, not survived. But we are always forced to survive every day, counting around us a host of absences. On a calm night sea waves the boat waiting to take us in search of our island hidden. Travel, do not stop, the river never stops, even in the face of rocks of the mountains, floating out on the merge with the sea in an embrace of love fulfilled.
Antonio Ragone
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