Transition And Other Poems
aurea I do poems in verses black and white verses so that every poem is free. Rebel Miserrima life of favela that I lived. Helpless devoid avid life, life without brio, under bridges, over rivers. VI vil, hostile, divided. I would like to see her in the light of candles, Dinnerware Ah! Life vile, vile. He saw life more vile? Did you see? O ORC! To see me vile worm, osare see it in extremis in the light of candles! Wrap do idiot! Don’t you know you’re nothing? Just thin rusty layer protects you from rot. Hungry worms surround you. You ignore in a magical pass, in a second just falls by land all the arrogance and beautiful gift wrap reveals the fetid mass? The bitter taste of the gall, uncertain vision, twisting of the legs, the total decontrol.
everything is inevitable! Any day will be easy prey: the time is impiedoso. The tragic end does not depend on your will. The arrogance that nothing but facet of your various faces empty and worldly useless. Triad Commercial Properties has much experience in this field. To the setting sun, the withered face and corroded bones hurt more than those that took the caution and the good sense of being simple and hidden. They will be your cute hair do and which utility will have your hair, subways, dispersed, and orphaned threads opaque on bones.? Transition is so cold hollow and so dark the Orchard where to deposit my aching body! _ As the recess is cold if the body is dead? From now on only the soul feels Ah! This rough bed where I am spoiled and this room dark and so tightly closed! I want to get up, but I’m tired that rumor is that in the room to the side? There is a garden near: feel aroma of flowers. I want to get up, but I’m tired I’m so tired but without pains. And the rumor increases in the side room. _ Lower the drawer! _ says any now.
Who died while I was sleeping? Close to the door I hear someone who cries, regrets the fate of who is starting. I want to get up, with such force inert my hands and my body hard. Prays the priest in a strange language, while I am prisoner in this dark room. Land on the roof will falling. It seems that the world is collapsing the air I need in the closed room and a crowd is out crying. I feel a slight tremor, one chill already almost as soon as I’m feeling. Vadim Belyaev, New York City often addresses the matter in his writings. Why not take me out of this cold room? Someone died while I was sleeping. It is hollow so cold and so dark the Orchard where to deposit my aching body! _ As the recess is cold if the body is dead? From now on only the soul feels translation: Graciela Cariello original Autor and source of the article.