DON ORESTES THE ALCHEMIST

He lit a cigar of pure thoughts,
He filled his glass with nostalgia for his best wine,
He sat in his armchair covered with dilemmas,
to be able to read your book of blank pages.
The window brought a light breeze from the past,
with little swirls of her barefoot childhood,
that they played in sheets of curtains,
embroidered with the threads of the siesta of the neighborhood.
Mr. Orestes had a lot of time to lose,
the same one that had never reached him,
and in their little world of white walls,
everything around him lacked borders.
Immersed in its solitude without background music,
one afternoon he closed so as not to open his eyes again,
and immersed in an ocean of transparent waters,
finally he could change his riches for freedom.