dig up the past sunsets
hear rustling in the twilight
the cries of those winter afternoons;
the great beating heart of a busy
by its forms, including wrinkles rock
make you feel the trumpets of misfortune
accusatory accumulated over the years of guilt.
On all the stubbornness of my life, visions fall
and sin which flares at its image, its curves
still aroused feelings of youth ancestral
in which every year meaningless by the panic
destination immaculate lack of direction,
voiceless sweet your moans from
grave and headstone of my years.
Now I'll see you in hell, I will be guilty of
my life, not Having A chosen, I will be I who despise and put
years to oblivion.
eternity In my poetry, will religion be broken, militancy,
criticism and praise.
But who reigns but the female with her hips sense with
his body and his clothes, the smell of her hair
devastates us and excites us, the wine enhances the senses, makes fun of me life ...
A Cup of my life encouraged me to write in this universe
some verses, and tired of being the immortality of
words, I do renew the ring in my hand, as
who renewed their vows, prompting yearnings, go to church on Sundays
to understand the passing of the era, increasing
winters on winter memories children, the
females who passed through my life and my upbringing before aging
...
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