the wind my hair I
Uff
a thousand days without posting anything, thanks to all who follow me like , even a hanging!
long ago do not write poetry to follow my impulses, and I'm experimenting with other forms ... But this so far is a blog of poetry, no?
xD well, luckily I have a file crazy:) are not very old alike but have already
the first time is a rare description speaks of the silence and the windows (I never have liked but they think) and the second is about an angel ornaments:
DEAD HOURS THAT MY BREATH
Three windows
in this room at night
three windows flashing
between the strange lights
the nocturnal world
sometimes revealing so many things,
my idle hours
through three windows
this room, this house
three windows, a triangle.
Room Three windows had
of my childhood,
had two windows in the attic next
where ghosts lived
but had one more, the hidden window
is that nobody looked toward the ceiling
where it entered the starlight
and amazing mysteries
around the cosmos,
through windows
my idle hours , breathing.
visible windows had bars
black painted metal and earth
where birds
who played was the branches of a tree.
Large windows for sun
always necessary
is beautiful regardless of their light
the sleep I wake
clear Sunday.
"... two days in life are never bad,
in any way that is life ... "
AN ANGEL
was an angel.
A golden angel, perfect
without arms, broken, child, perfect.
was on a table and around it,
other angels awaiting my gaze
but he forced me to keep looking.
A golden angel, perfect
lacked a foot,
was broken,
was a boy, perfect.
slept, still
had other angels
that nobody saw
and their voices came
farewell lullabies or
the
slept quietly,
and a tree behind glass
took advantage of the transparency afforded by
window and showed her, until now, green
that would go out in this fall.
An angel
punished by time,
sleeping still. Child
perfect.
An angel.
made me think of you.
Charlie.
.
.
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