Poem: The silent stained glass windows

Time is only a watermark.
I don't have what could be called agreement, concord,
or any synonym that exists in the presence of my body.
I look at the silent shop windows every morning.
The unequal mannequins gather together
and watch me parade among the others.
A simple social mannequin would say,
There are no men around, only animals.
Show me the wild horses again,
so that I feel that their union is not a name.
That being completely together
doesn't mean herd, group, collection, gathering.
Today I discovered that all the streets are equal in my eyes.
That all the paintings bare their bodies before the painters.
That broken brushes don't matter when making love.
It's obvious.
I can't say: Peace exists.
Eliminating the sidewalks, the paintings, the brushes, and the animals.
What has come to be nothing.
But what good would this damned truce do me,
if between battles won and lost,
I've finally discovered
that I only have your hands.

_{The text is AI-free, Google translated and proofread by me.
ThThe language separator and acknowledgments were created in Canva
The photos are my property}