Memory of Jack
He is like Jack How he would have looked "pushing fifty" White hair cut low at the temple The same finger pointing His personae absolutely like a sixties man Eyes, forever moist And mouth
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- 686 reads
The End
The savour of fruits still remains in my mouth, but the bitterness of words demolishes the clouds and wrings the snow counting the pebbles. But you never told me why you deceived me,
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- 728 reads
Ashes
The fireplace was eager to put a fullstop, in the sentence where the road of my dreams stuck upon the word of happiness with sparkles of wet logs I collected from the inside of me
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- 725 reads
Ideals
Snow-covered mountains, ancient monuments, a north wind that nods to us, a thought that flows, images imbued with hymns of history, words on signs with ideals of geometry.
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- 712 reads
Fictitious Line
Smokes of cigarettes and mugs full of coffee, next to the fictitious line where the eddy of words leans against and nods, wounded, to my silence.
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- 739 reads
To You I Speak
To you I speak, do not show indifference. This moment to me is mighty. I am happy. These words I uttered and all were sad. They left, heads down.
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- 734 reads
To The Dead Poet Of Obscurity
(In Honor Of The Dead Unpublished Poet) Well done! You have won! You should not feel sorry. Your unpublished poems -always remember- have not been buried, haven't bent
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- 672 reads