My life
My crazy life is going to drag my ship
and waiting for my time listening songs
in the time destroyed or changed in the empty
that I carry in me, who am reborn in the tired voice
and allegory in the verse badly.
In the old friend and solitude a reflection
of my eyes with the tears entangling
those match your salt, to no avail.
The hope is sleeping is dead and inevitably follows
struggle for the inconsistent and crazed
seeking to least a bit of peace.
What remains, beyond the dream,
is the distorted image of an exposed body
crumbling on the edge of the precipice and ultimate sunset.
And he smiles.
Marcos Loures
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