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Posts Tagged ‘literature’

In love be sure there will be a thousand mutiny,
A thousand whispers to see our soul transcend.
Who tells the journey, but hearts we often meet;
Among surreal shades and strokes, an artful blend?
Who sees the light among the stars, if not in agony
Wish, not those million fears, but for those beat?
Why decipher this decrepit mind? We are forever.

Tossed by the fate, torn by the winds of change,
Among the coldest winds, often the best blooms
From the most adorable abyss to touch the breath.
Among the colossus of greed, love quietly grooms
As our soul erects each fear into a dissolved henge.
In times like these, trust the times more, live the faith.
Who seeds, who harvests the golden yield forever?

Into ash, who says we’ll surrender when we are done;
We’ll arise again to let love live even when we are gone.

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A broken wooden bench over a spread of ivy all over,
As if it hides those footprints of a distant love and life.
There I see flowers occasionally touching the air over
And murmur the silent whispers of my hopeful wife
That they hear from those years of struggle and fear,
Among the many hopes, everything that stands so dear.

Oh! What fear makes? What clutters this cold mind now?
We played characters, both strong and weak with time,
We hunted and allowed to be grabbed in the gusts
Among those years, with one single hope for a life
That is beautiful, that is holding each other and rhyme
The spirit of life sitting beside the waves of this world.

Time plays the greatest comedy, for it brings justice
To every breath that we think we accomplish in life;
Time sings the greatest music, for it sounds rhythms
Of love, no matter what strings we touch with hymns
Anchored by our soul, served in light, a sublime piece.
Have faith, love alone stays as every other bird flies.

Here and now, just pause and remember the first sight,
The first spring that we chose to journey and then cross
The summer and the fall all together with the courage
That repeats life again and again, no matter what name,
What thoughts will teach us, what actions will journey,
We are surely now in an endless love forever and ever.

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When I walked over the dried ferns under the oak,
The moist fallen leaves gazed and asked if am a soul.
What makes this being so light and that has crossed
A million questions, and seen words turn into wind.
Now no breath invites a rhapsody among the wood,
But stand like surreal statues to falter in an old feud.

Sometimes it’s the man in the street, homeless, tired
But with sunken lips says “it is a beautiful world”;
Sometimes, it’s the golden steps upon which the lady
In bizarre, sighs on everything that crosses the cold.
Is peace so far that we purportedly seek in passion?
Death is but silence offered to every moment we lived.

Rumbling among the thistles of these autumn behind,
The feet now tired, the head pulled through the wind
With so many thought pieces and moments to lose.
Until the waves touch them, until the sand is so kind
To hold the feet and declare for the times to come
I will either live with the heart or be left to remind.

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If time was to settle or pause among the pristine powers,
A flute is enough to play and save through the breathing rocks.
What is madness, if can’t converse with the countable stars?
What air is of profit if doesn’t hold the soul that death mocks?

The treasure of our times will be those smiles that we record.
The pursuit of our passion if not inspire, then to what respite?
Awake! Here it stands stronger than we know anything else.
Listen! To This voice of yours that echoes love our heart tells.

Sometimes, it’s among those tired leaves where love wrote.
Sometimes, it’s among a thousand waves where soul floats.
What profit is our rhyme here, if not toss our ego for light.
A step, a breath, a story that awaits you on the bed this night.

Awake! Yet again, you will starve and feed, drink the thirst.
But Oh, never give up on those dreams that live in your heart.

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On the same crossroads where we met last,
I still yearn to see you come again, alone.
Let there be no humans, no old statues cast,
No dark doors, no vivid fates, just love alone.
These lives that we lived are lost like wars.

The Beatrice I know has now immortal wings,
And has grown more love than ever before.
Now nothing stops the marriage of our souls.
The Florence I loved long is now denied,
As trusted faces are jaunted in jealous eyes,
And fleeting souls lead and leave past buried.

I am here to sing and write for love so dear;
But cruel intentions consume cold intellect
That I believe was to receive trusted praise.
In desire there is the Beatrice I love again,
For no promise I can see without embrace.

I have kinsmen at home who are far now, 
With unknown fates and dwindling days.
I have my first books and an ancient ink pot
Wandering through the window for return
Of me, my verse filled in heart like an urn.
But I will not redeem, nor will listen to past.
I am a man and like my race shall move on.
This is not fate but an exile cast on my soul.

There are patrons now for me to demolish,
Enough grudge on the verse I wrote in rein,
And Satan that I saw through the homes lost.
There is still love that runs in my aged vein.

The statue of four seasons stands now,
Where we first promised to live and love.
There are grapes and graves lying beside
Like the mockery of our human dreams.

After ages we will be born and meet again,
May not be in Florence but in a far away land,
Where fate will settle down like the sea sand
And frozen dreams will live and love again.

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