The Cycle of Words

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Emptiness transforms words

into nothing.

It melts them with bitterness

and sobriety,

It seasons them with loneliness

and self pity.

It burns them to death,

Until the dust of what

once were words

float away.

Confused but free

they blend with the nowhere,

letting their pain be,

becoming oblivion,

Resting in peace.

 

WE ARE

This poem was written in a moment where things were not easy but love was there, standing still.
Make your happiness or misery into words, make them poetry cause they’ll fly and they will dwell in those hearts who read them.

We are that thing,

That exception of nature,

The beautiful sound of the water

Through the rocks.

We are the awareness of the whole,

Of the life, of the love…

… But still, we are not together.

We are the pieces of the compass,

Solving the mystery of the lust,

Laughing with the touching of the senses

Feeling with the words of the poets.

We are the flight of the birds,

The sun in the horizon

The wind and the leaves,

But yet, we are not together.

Our history is like those ones,

That, unbelievably, we believe

That don’t exist in the mind

Of crazy writers

And sinner priests.

We are the nowhere

We are the space

We are the sand and the concrete

We are the time

We are one

But still, we are not together.