Si eres de habla hispana, esta versión es para ti 👉 Español.
As I navigated these waters of HIVE, like a castaway, I came across a post by my friend 
When the Sky Turns the Colour of Tin
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑖𝑛, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡,
𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔,
𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠—𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑝,
𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑠,
𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒,
𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑟𝑒.
𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡.ᐣ
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡,
𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑒𝑎 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑡,
𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝟹 𝑎.𝑚. 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛,
𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠.
𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦. 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑖𝑛.
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡,
𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑔,
𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒.
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒, 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑒,
𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑒—
𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒:
𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑡,
𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢,
𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦.
𝑆𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒.
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑,
𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠,
𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡—ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡—
𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢.
I would like to invite my poet friend 
Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, ** day by day**, to make our planet a better world.
Banner created with Blockchain Poet Badge and Canva Pro's Magic Studio and Magic Capture tools.
Navegando por estas aguas de HIVE, como si fuera un náufrago, encontré una publicación del amigo
Cuando el cielo se pone de plomo
𝐶𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑙 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑢𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎,
𝑐𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛 𝑦 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎,
𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑠 —𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑙𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑑—,
𝑜𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 ℎ𝑢𝑒𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑠,
𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝜄́𝑎𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜,
𝑢𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑧𝑎 𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎.
𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑢́, ¿𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑑?
𝐿𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛̃𝑎𝑛𝑎,
𝑙𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑢𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒́ 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑓𝑟𝜄́𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑜́ 𝑑𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑜,
𝑙𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑗𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒́ 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑎,
𝑙𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜 𝑐𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛
𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑎ℎ𝜄́.
𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎. 𝐴𝑚𝑖𝑔𝑜𝑠. 𝐿𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑠.
𝑈𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜,
𝑙𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑧 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝜄́ 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑠,
𝑙𝑎 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑗𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑙𝑢𝑧 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛̃𝑎𝑛𝑎,
𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑎́𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑎́𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑎,
𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜.
𝑌 𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢́𝑛 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟, 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑧𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛̃𝑎 𝑦 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑎,
𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝜄́𝑎𝑠:
𝑛𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑜𝑠 𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑎:
𝑢𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑑𝑎,
𝑢𝑛𝑎 ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑜,
𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎, 𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑙 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑎́𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑜,
𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛̃𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜.
𝑄𝑢𝑒 𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑣𝑎, 𝑝𝑢𝑒𝑠. 𝑄𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑠.
𝑆𝑖𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑎́ 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟,
𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑧 𝑞𝑢𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑔𝑎 𝑒𝑐𝑜 𝑎 𝑙𝑎 𝑡𝑢𝑦𝑎,
𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑙𝑢𝑧 —𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑒—
𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑎, 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑡𝑖.
𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑛 𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎, 𝑒𝑙 𝑑𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑑:
𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒́ 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑜,
𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝜄́𝑑𝑜,
𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑣𝜄́𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑖 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑠𝜄́𝑎,
𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑑𝑎.
𝑌 𝑎𝑠𝜄́, 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑠, 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜́𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑠,
𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠...
𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠.
Me gustaría invitar a mi amigo poeta
Dedicado a todos aquellos poetas que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de nuestro planeta un mundo mejor.