bjpafa

Lost towers

This is the day where I was called strident and irritating,

My writings unbearable for some in respect to its content.

Well one may say better strident than other heavier faults.

Writing is an extension of humankind through the pen present.


Nobody is owner to pages, critics, poems or novels, you know,

And that’s why the rights, if stronger or lighter, always expire

Returning to Humankind to product of one of a kind, such as me

Or you, owner of truth or expresser of opinions about eternity.


Tinker sells in each stop, and I hear that my last verse is beautiful,

Pointing to the ordinary or despicable, loathsome quality of the rest.

Considering this as a letter, an articulate that should never have been,

The inner felling shouts you never had written such answer to unclean

Provocations, but the arm is weak and the man has nothing too faithful

To send like spores in the world, being father of siblings forever away,


You taught me to write light, but I weight 270 lbs., crapulous as a fact,

So such a large presence indicates Gluttony, sloth, which led to wrath.


And oh so shinning life´s people can rise high

I would never know, egotistic and stubborn.

Is this the face that launched one thousand ships…

Not me nor you, no one has ever evocate such feelings

Considering a representation of a Mythical figure.


So let´s burn the topless towers of language

In an anthem to the builders of a new world,

A place up there or deep down, amid gods

Human ants and ants hominidiae, heavier than humanity



Because we are only dwarfs walking on the shoulders of giants,

I embrace the birth of us all among the deeds of the Olympians,

As one of most respectful religions forged down Hades or not,


But wise in between death, birth and treachery, may many refuse it,

Social and personal interactions born from need and grow for greed.

Oh thy eyes so gray, color forgotten, love so intense centers underneath.

Diane oh goddess bowshot, hit me in a chest, and goes from Eros to agape.

They knew and they did good things without Theology, Luther or Calvin.

Not an elegy of Greek-Roman pantheon, only short fused brainstorm

Say oh yes, I have been better up with ideas, less solitude, and love

Sometimes difficult to detach the women and the kin you love, but change.

Indigo blues of dust thrown in my face on a bridge over a river, deform.

Pray, you agnostical atheist, you that never shined on your crazy diamond.
















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