Do not tell the stars, white moon, what you know … what can the thirteen roses know, of that great love? When this love kills me, because it has to kill me, children who love me, put me close to your “Father”; He, only he knows the secret of this love so great … On my body put, thirteen leafless roses, representing the thirteen most beloved names of my loves, which are thirteen drops of my blood … I can say, here by my side I have your “Father”, the last elegant and constant lover; I do not ask you, that you understand, this great love is an improper romantic echo of these ages. One thing I ask of you, that one should not deny me, when I die … because this pain kills me, put me for compassion, put me on, with your “Father” …

Mica .. .

Of moons and roses

They say that love is good, that its harvest is sublime, I, that I sowed it with the moons of roses, and any other, where does that thorn that hurts me so much, tell me? They say that love is good, that it is to live the illusion, I, that a sanctuary I made with my best tenderness, where does that force that breaks my heart emanate? They say that love is good, that it is the surrender of evil, I, who have loved so much, so much, why does it leave me this pain? Your love went through my life, full of thoughts and affections, hurricane of gray ideas now carry my desires. They say that love is good, that it is true bliss, I, on a throne I have him with my best poems. Why this pain so great until I die of love …


My loneliness

My sound solitude of poem is like a cicada by the wheat fields, of that infinite vain crowd that is by my side without being with me. Among the high tremor of sorrows I have an open wound for every company. And in the dark well of shadows, a light poem of sack music, I am the poor cicada who imagines that it is my poems, the soul of my life; Tell me I’m not alone, that from the blue sky you listen to me. On the vague and unanimous disdain of all my misfortunes; For you, I will not have night or days; And I will lay at your feet, like a carpet, my sonorous solitude of poems! … For you, I write them, my life!


Feelings of Poetry

Poetry Who or what are you? Feelings of my soul How to get accents and sound in harmony. I only know that they are feelings that come from my soul, from my heart in a harmonious way, in words that I would never have thought.

Ah !!! My little girl, help me to demonstrate how joy sounds, expressing clearly as a melody. Poetry. !! Oh!!! Poetry small in phrase and big in feelings talking about sorrows, joys, and love. Finally, feelings. Feelings beyond for a mother of her aching daughter.

The Thirteen Roses

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