The Last Poem of an Infinite Love

The blood that flows by these veins is no longer the most beautiful in the world,
as thought before.
Eternity poetic wich formerly used to live in my soul,
No longer appears beautifull tonight, as appeared before …

Oh, Dawn! How miss its beauty makes me sad!

Why has to be sadness the sad requiem of all being in love?
Why can not we love like every day, like every night?
Why the leaves that fall into this evening of despair, can not be greener as they were before?

Why God? Oh my God!
Why my love can no longer be as sweet as the divine dawn?
In which angels, like my love, take the most beautiful dreams to those who have no more happiness?

I feel me myself, now, Lord, Lady
As the last of the poets.
Who, for loving too much one finite love,
Brought this to immortality, and immortality to his pain …
Pain, that I’m feeling gnawing my flesh now
And more than the flesh, my spirit, and more than the spirit, my soul.

And so, if I am a poet who feels, so much sorrow conjugating my heart,
This is, finally, The Last Poem of an Infinite Love…

-

Days

Sometimes, we wake up different
We look for the All and Nothing at the same time
Enough to be odd, so much peace and torment
Everything together. Everything

And every waking, walking, studying and working,
It’s all part of a single principle: life.
Everything is life
The new poetry: life written of every day.

Then, when you least expect …
Days go, day comes …
Good days and bad days
Hysteria, love and chaos
Are we going to see:
Days of wealth, days of no penny

Today, the day passes like any other
But at the same time, different
I have the same desires and miss.
No matter. All right…

Today, I can set me free:
Writing, as well do!
Writing, as I want, each day write more!

–

Life and Death

Beauty is living… infinite grace
But, so much hidden things, not shown, not felt
Just makin’ me, yes, ask: is it the life, or just the death?

So much sadness passing by, so much tears for one to cry
A feeling to admire, not only hear about…
Yes.
So, what’s the point in talking, or even just inhale (to exhale)?
If just a little one could ask the forbidden question
If, just a little one could asnwer with infinite clarity
Try yourself to anwser, to get:
Is it the life, or just the death?

A verse may talk more than anything
Even nore than a good book
A lost love may hurt more than anything
No matter if is mother, fadher, friend, who cares?
And, in losing: what is the point?
What do we deserve for the future?
Anything else than a beautifull felt peace
Or just the life, or maybe death…

So, the “gone ones” deserve all we have
Our love, our love
They are our past, but, without forget the future
We can’t live if we don’t walk.

I know a day we all are going to be togedher
And happines I will have
So much emotion for a day
So much peace for a day…

And I’lll gonna live happy in waiting my time comin’
Without disappoint you: the guardians of this soul of mine
Singing perfect songs, beautiful ones to listen and admire
And this day, I’ll know what to talk, what to think
And maybe that day, I’m gonna just to care no more with the question

’cause I’m the life.
’cause I’m the death.

–

Hello Folks!

Well, I had the idea of creating these site long time ago, but for a lot of motives, I coudn’t. Now, it’s time for mine dears poems in portuguese have theirs own version in english.
I expect people enjoy them, and if yes, why not take a look in my original site, in portuguese?

Never forgeting that “Every poem is not a poem without Poetic. And all living poetic is here…”, let them all begin!