jueves, 19 de octubre de 2017

it is ileventuentifai (Poem in English)

Thus machine brought thy joyful spirit;
thou wert not made, but rather, created.
With the veins of your hands designed to be pricked
and punched
and maybe overflown
the mirror of thy activity engendering thy selfe.

A bit forlorn, a much unrested,
amidst thy fear
thou wert infested (lol the silly rhyme is hence avoided)
It is not the synthetic tears (we must say colirio here allow my roots to grow)
of this tremens
or the beautiful rain that risks my life
and it is neither the resolution of my body
(always awakened and unready)
nor the the wrongful ways I tend to experience.

This verse aframed for it's lasciviuos
and God who rests and understands
(forgives but not forgets,
loves but set us free)
unconceivable conceits within my spirit
which is at same a body and soil to feed
the wonders of the souls who lost their hunger
and wander, far apart, as if they happened.

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