Barefoot
my ways are the words that I wrote
the rhythms that reproduced me
these torbenillos that assault are also
the hairs on my head
these penflectos are my love songs
I'm there where the nights rush through the air
about my tour as a nostalgic devil
it's not a question of trizteza
it is the longest scale of the soul to its bone
it is a question of hope of thirst or live embers
I come from where the miseries are cooked
and the thousand solitudes
I come from three shadows but I only know
the contempt that marked the road
that led me to other places
I knew the pesedumbres and their roofs
the loves without soul and the pains
and the damp wet
and the risk and the madness
everything begins and ends in eternity
but eternity does not know about us dreamers
if it were not for the dreamers
this world would be a garbage
the poetry must be seen
like a body that everyone wants to kiss
although it burns
and to go though it melts in your hands
Written by: @Nandomiracles
I invite you to the contest of #POEMCHALLENGE
Directed by: @Margaretwise
For more information about the rules click [Hare]
The poet's first task is to unleash in us a subject that he wants to dream.
Poetry is a reminder of the best and happiest moments of the best and happiest devices.
see the poetic even in the most everyday things.
