Am alive thru poetry,
All by myself,
With no one to share
This piecing love,
Within me
As if I were living
On a distant planet,
All by myself.
But my love increases
Day by day,
And if one day
I have nothing to say,
Nothing to write
Nothing to live for,
I will go away
Silently, miserably,
Hopelessly,
Because poetry and I
We were born together
On the same day
By some magical
Undeserved favor,
And, by the way,
Love is also born
That way.
Is it sadnessIn reality,That pushOur many themes?Looking,For the impossibleDoesn’t even pay,Even if dreamWe may,Because lifeJust doesn’tWork that way.
I feel that lifeHas a purpose,That it’s not all,Black or White,Or evil’s fight,For you are the lightOf my existence,My close protectionNot life’s distance,And I must notConcealThat all revolves aroundYour beautiful soul’sAppeal,So I write this,So you should knowThe immense gratitude,I feel.
Available!Time,Which I mentalizeAnd squander,Daydream,Write poetry,In wonderRemembering,Old films thatStill hold meHostage,As priorities,Old thunderThat loiters,In the slumberOf my dreams,The gnawing onesThe most beloved ones,Those that I knowWon’t come trueBut aide imagination,And sometimesSomehow areThe animationThat helps us cope,And see Life thru.
My imagination flies,My pulse is agitatedMy expectations rise,And I have hopesThat what never was,Could one day be!And I’m carried away,Nautically, lovinglyBy a sea of dreamsThat fit me well,And fulfill,My everlasting,Dreams of fantasy.
From deep down inside,Perhaps, best exemplifiedIn Munch’s painting, The ScreamWhere the deep pain of loneliness may reside,That you cannot kill and you cannot hide.
