She promised she wouldn’t write any more

At least for a year, at least for a lifetime

But here she is searching for beauty amongst words and tears

She promised she wouldn’t cry any more

At least for today, at least until her own death

Anyway, this are melancholic times and death is blind and stubborn

She promised she wouldn’t feel any more

Instead, she would rhyme like before

But her heart is radiating galore

She promised she will be strong

She let her self be weaker instead

And found beauty on a painful day.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. mbrazfieldm says:

    eu amo a última linea arte e transformar e dolor em beleza obrigado, poeta!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. lynyo says:

      Moito abrigado colega poeta! Es lo que intentamos todos todas las noches al enfrentar a la pluma contra el papel


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