A verdade é que sinto mal
não sinto direito.
Canhoto errado
desde o primeiro momento.
Me sinto errado
porque não sinto o momento
canhoto, não sinto
desde o primeiro direito.
Sinto que sinto mal
não me sinto, primeiro.
Não sei o que sinto,
não entendo direito.
A verdade
nasce
sozinha.
Não sei de onde vem.
terça-feira, 31 de janeiro de 2017
sexta-feira, 13 de janeiro de 2017
Something
Something
1.
Smile
I.
Poor
are the humans
‘cause
they don’t choose what they will be.
They
are trans-passed by passions,
by
distractions,
by
involuntary seeds
of
attraction.
The
happenings arise in the fields of the lack of power
and
make ourselves out of control.
The
motivation transforms us from within,
and
to the soul love becomes tyranny.
When
a smile is a smile is a smile...
II.
It
would be easier if it was close
to
the peace of Gandhi
or
to the groove of Rolling Stones.
But
Shakespeare reigns over love
and
there is in the world nothing more
than
love, fight, losing or winning.
When
the gray clouds leave
and
the Spring comes
with
a breath of faith
things
come back to their own place.
But there is goodbye in between.
There
is hope and there is pain.
There is no lie in a smile
which
through memory in the heart stays.
2.
Eyes
No
one can see
the
sadness inside the tears
the
painful state of nostalgia
with
the things leaving aside
after
the leave.
The
animal inside
can’t
ever know what it means
but
only it could see
a
whole soul inside those eyes -
and
who knows if looking at him?
The
things are written in a way she can understand
his strange feelings and its retrospection.
But
he keeps alone on those things that are only to him:
saudades.
What more it could be?
3.
Heart
Without
perceive, the heart the wind deceive
while
the mind is thinking too much
it
doesn’t see what is true
and
what it comes.
But
heart knows and makes it through,
to
put life into a new cycle.
And
doesn’t matter the source or the name:
if
from the world or from the Bible.
Snakes
and apples throw life as in a shove
where
every heartbeat
is
about love.
4.
Soul
To
fall in love is a mystery.
To
not own oneself is a misery.
But
what make us feel ourselves
other
than to be lost in the song of Sirens?
The
world outside is a cover
and
a lover is what make us
beings.
Assinar:
Postagens (Atom)