the fable man’s voice
with intentions of embroidering
what we cannot leave.
It’s the hero of fear,
as time wrinkles,
when we go up the ladder
to reach the bridge of
figures in flames.
We want to be,
a vibration if we get lost
with no harvest or shade,
if we walk alone displaced.
We want to be,
the prophecy that returns us
to the mystique of being human.
A return from hunger of these days
without a moment alone with fear.
Through the eyes of death.
We move closer to mediating bridges,
where time increases and decreases
to the point of night that brings us together,
reflects on us and repeats our anecdotes.
With fervent eyes of immediacy,
you affirm what others deny,
you are the truth of days,
the spiral of the beginning,
you are unavoidable.
While I write to you without my name,
from misty cities,
within the fortress of my skin
on stairs that don’t ascend.
Against the roundness of caresses,
and the long silence of the streets
where ghosts pass.
From another look and space,
telling each other what we would never say,
filling those channels with forever secrets.
I am putting off time in my own abode
beyond feeling and having
the separation of the embrace.
There is still existence that can be found.
Dissolution is the smoke that rises the highest
while water penetrates the lowest
with surprise love hidden under bridges,
or with a closed fist that opens to give.
This is what is given to us,
this is will be our memory in time,
through springs and summers
like a colorful fruit and silence.
I’d like to say that every day is the same, it’s not true.
It’s all in discovering something new,
and my wisdom seems so far out of reach.
Our earth, people, animals,
and fish swimming in the stream searching for food.
When lost eyes come and go,
on roads with footprints.
The day, the night, and the misery
that chases every corner
at the edge of the sun and on the street.
People tell stories of war and love
in poems with song,
never saying what they want.
Then that moment passes.
You’re the one who didn’t just say
on a spring evening,
I was the one that comes from the sea.
The one that precedes me.
The one on rainy afternoons
lies down in the fields.
Bonus writes. By my Mexican Friends;
I do not have much to offer this day, only a heart, verses, ink and a particular wine that runs through my veins. I will only ask on this day, that life brings us pleasant and bitter experiences and that with an intense fire we rub ourselves with them. So that one day we can see ourselves in the sky, synchronize heartbeats and be the ones who challenge Cupid, sending arrows to the world. ¡What a reality form the hades!
My best friend, Ever wrote this. He is also known as Angel.
Yes I miss you, but just a little bit because I decided to be that way,
Yes I gave you my heart a thousand nights but tonight I have it here with me,
Yes I saw myself traveling the world hand in hand but you decided to leave.
Sat 2:59 PM
My friend and roommate wrote this. Jesus. Thanks.