Friday, April 3, 2009

UNIA, my tears - love poems

Lloro ... Mourn, yes.
I'm not the only one that does.
But my tears are blood
as suicide ago
long time ago.

The wounds remain open
although they look with different eyes,
with very different looks ...

Is this not understandable?
For many it is, is not just a word ...
for me is just a word.
One word that defines something
a word in a dictionary.

But who will fix my soul?
Who will close my wounds
and heal?
Who will erase the last hidden
desesperada under our skin?

Nobody on the closed time.
But what this big lie, but
leaves our mouths
knowing that when we look
who caused the opening
as if they were sword in hand.

No matter.
Out in the Past,
Present and past in
in the very distant future.

So what else is.
The weather soon will my memories ...

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