Float seamlessly in dark.
Come in my arms,
like a cloud―
like a moon.

The cult will live
on for eternity to
meet the challenger.

The objector had
the flatfoot. Will walk
overdressed.

In eerie silence―
an agile titan was going
to vilify himself.

Conscientiously I
wanted to feel you once
in my verses.

No virtue, no sin
was needed to come to
the lips of an abyss.

Staring into darkness
Hoping to see stars
But there's
Nothing
Nothing
There.

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

dans une ville de ténèbres
peut-il y avoir de mille feux
de susciter l'espoir ne pas peur

-----

in a city of darkness
may there be a thousand lights
to spark hope not fear

In the dark
The english roses
Number the stars
//
The infinite sea
(Of) the other normals
Falling into place
//
After we fell
Fifty shades darker
Ten tiny breaths
Four seconds to lose
//
On such a full sea
The echo maker
Decoded
The narrow road to the deep north
//
Farther away
Legends of literature
(Made) memories
(And) collected poems
//
The little prince
Burned
The beast
The year I met you
//
One hundred names
The ten-year nap
This is my life
//
Save me

Everything that we ever saw together, every time I made you laugh or you made me laugh, every feeling and memory we ever shared and made, has been reduced to just two strangers with dust in their blood.

People fall in love
To feel alive.

But you,
You were my early death.


-- Eleanor