Five centuries of poetry.
Rip it out if you can not handle it in your hands. Keep ripping gentleman. Otherwise, face the battles, face the wars. The casualites can be your heart and soul burning in hell.
Words can change the world, but measuring poetry is a terrible mistake.
She tried to measure her love through numbers. Crazyness on numbers? Desires on numbers?
The devil on his own explained her we do not write or read poetry because it is cute. But for the simple reason we are a human race, though, we are filled with passion.
They weren´t a greek organization. They were romantics. With these eyes the earth mother will be feeded some how, maybe in a near future, I could feel the presence of Byron and Whitman in that indian cave. They were in every poetry dripped from their tongues.
Every single night after the sun had disappeared , and the moon was the unique crucified fellow of the boys, poetry was about to drip from their tongues. Gods have been created. Women danced to the sound of the calm breeze. How was all that possible? How the young fellows had made that single moment become magic?
The boys with a genuine inteligence and sensibility had discovered the marrow of life when their souls were kept in contact with the woods. They were finally living as birds flying the highest they could. They were alive. For the first time, they could see how brief would be their existence. They could see behind men there is a desperate hunting for eternity.
All of us, food to feed the worms.
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