02 agosto 2009

From Ashes, To Ashes

Poor romantic...
Lost in thinking,
Lurking, peering,
Out of semantic.

Able to really find,
Without problems
But like poems,
A new love in mind.

Every fake aliance,
Nearly obsession,
Is his true defiance;

Making a new impression,
In his flesh, with deniance,
To ashes, eternal self -agression.

-------Letting wind blow a little... Being taken by inspiration...
Have never written anything in English before... It's just cause something inside me tells me this one, plenty of feeling, should be told in a language that carries a load of pity in its poems. I don't really know if it was more like Poe or Shakespeare... but it was surelly me.
How many times an idealist romantic is able to create loves inside his mind, based on ashamed smiles, effulgent eyes or scented hair? My heart tells me... you shall not number it, at all...
Come on, dear reader... Reflect about it too...