Which are only seen in furniture
Accedes to the roots of the water hyacinth
When witnessing their short life
One morning that was not sacred
On the bank of a river not sharing
Except for hiding the underground link
Of a multitude of souls with a simple destiny
Held in his hands but also passing through others
Perhaps more skillful but much weaker
Transforming both realities into just one situation
Where a beginner would find a concurrence
When two planets do not converge in a curve
But do in position before the star guiding them
Whose seed was retained within for centuries
Waiting for the blessings of their own kind.
Continuing to present everything
For not representing anything
About the picture of your own life
On the writing of your own words
Defeating the struggle of intentions
Detached from the sorrowful logic
Of those things that so sensibly
Bear those other same things
Once and again as if in steadiness
Including a part of what beauty permits
But not always considered a difficult condemnation
Of the conscious effort in respect to the talent received
The little pain that will always be provoked
Looking everywhere searching for it
The last game of vanity with a faithful caress
Seems so sweet for who is ready to leave
What tests the acquired skill?
Which was so useful for the situation
And he already knows that nothing will remain
When in opening the door he can start the course
With the deep smile of one who does not fear time.
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