Moon of March

Moon of March
.....
I take and bring the brook murmurs.
Only I can sift the fog:
when main shy sun
manufactures Rainbow,
truth even,
the Artist I am:
I play the clouds!
****
... however, intrepid
and torrid to the hearts,
it is so I shudder to
the night whistle
the ferrules of the longing
when the absence
it is a fear.

HSSoares© 2007

The Tears

The tears
Let us exalt the tears. In the skin of the veins
Good Morning, waters!
Gratitude to the face, the colours
in the furrow in the eyes. Because this ardour, this
fear of the stepped herb?
Tears,
they fall asleep with me
Sweet, you manufacture the quietness and solitude
in the calm white blue of its abbreviated colour.
that far away they are leaving in the bitter air, under the impulse
delirious from transformation in extinct laws
Ironies or joys. Role or fake
tireless works or pains, like this
they conspire in other doors, other mysteries.
I lose them among conversations, the sleep, the love.
the deserted eyes absence consumes them.
Let us glory in the tears of vain splendours.
THE TEARS – II
What they will be then? A suspended line
in the curtains fold? A lighted knife
on the skin from lime? Or an air dislocation
in open tiles? And they will see borning
the sun in dry fountains of the hills? No
already in my eyes they will shudder to the wind,
not even to body rhythm. They return to the gods marrows,
kind joy of the water
fresh, sweet and pure, to the imperishable water
initial, which ever moves in land?
How they will survive then? In the noise
of colours? In white reflexes in portraits
of the dead men? In woven frights of smokes?
Oh, my tears, stay. Live on light.


HSS

Digital Art

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