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jueves, 5 de junio de 2014

Second morning




Because the strong roots of the walnut
Which are only seen in furniture
Accedes to the roots of the water hyacinth
When witnessing their short life

One morning that was not sacred
On the bank of a river not sharing
Except for hiding the underground link
Of a multitude of souls with a simple destiny

Held in his hands but also passing through others
Perhaps more skillful but much weaker
Transforming both realities into just one situation
Where a beginner would find a concurrence

When two planets do not converge in a curve
But do in position before the star guiding them
Whose seed was retained within for centuries
Waiting for the blessings of their own kind.

Continuing to present everything
For not representing anything
About the picture of your own life
On the writing of your own words

Defeating the struggle of intentions
Detached from the sorrowful logic
Of those things that so sensibly
Bear those other same things

Once and again as if in steadiness
Including a part of what beauty permits
But not always considered a difficult condemnation
Of the conscious effort in respect to the talent received

The little pain that will always be provoked
Looking everywhere searching for it
The last game of vanity with a faithful caress
Seems so sweet for who is ready to leave

What tests the acquired skill?
Which was so useful for the situation
And he already knows that nothing will remain
When in opening the door he can start the course
With the deep smile of one who does not fear time.