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Poetry

Quebrar e a chance de Reconstruir

An erasure poem grounded in the words of a beautiful soul that I met in the mountains of Italy.

I came by the forest.

Finding stairs and long corridors,

That lived on a view.

No bodies,

Yet the sensation moved,

In different rooms.

.

Connection is intention,

As people are bloom.

An open door,

          With comfort as the fruit.

.

Unlike the tree, I am rooted in uncertainty.

My responsibility escapes, finding stones.

Creating mountains,

As bittersweet leaves, frolic away from lusty trees,

I grow my vegetables and fruits.

To find a harmony that is not artificially bloomed in societal truths,

Am I understandable to you? 

.

I want something I can taste,

Smell, touch and unravel.

I wonder,

       How you smile,

When you see, a mind,

               That breathes freely.

                              With no pattern to walk,

              It stalks. 

.

Driving a force,

Like splitting wood,

Each log a different call. 

Fuelling your form.

You find a purity that burns to keep you warm. 

.

I do not wish to change your heart,

You are yours.

I am mine.

I only advise,

Time.

So you can walk, a path,

You choose, with each moment

You produce.

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