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Leocardo Reis Apr 2022
If a poem
cannot be read
by for whom it's for,
then the heart asks,
what is it for.
Leocardo Reis Apr 2022
I know only
how to dream.

The worlds
I have quietly
put together
are not so different
than my life now.
But there,
everything is laced
with moonlight;
a soft glow.

I am free to indulge
every detail.
How many times
have I imagined
how the wood
of a window sill
would feel against my finger tips?
Leocardo Reis Apr 2022
What had burned
turned to ash.
In the end,
even a violent blaze
turns to nothing.
Which flame lasts forever?

I give ashes
as proof of what once was.
Judge me, as you like,
but know the dust before you
was once with form;
warm and bright.
Leocardo Reis Apr 2022
If I am to be lost,
then let it be;
I shall be as
a grain of sand
in the currents of the ocean.

I reach for words,
to claw back from the depths
of a terrible
listlessness.
But I cannot find them,
I cannot even write.
Leocardo Reis Feb 2022
I wait
for spring;
the petals
on a fleeting breeze;
the scent of grass
made soft by the warm sun;
the hymn of life
started by the first birdsongs of the morning;
the faint hum
of beating wings
as a bee lands gently
on the pistil of a flower;
the lukewarm night
where the moon peers curiously
at the yellow-orange tinge of sunrise.
Leocardo Reis Dec 2021
It takes me
perhaps a few minutes,
at most,
to write a poem.

In the brief instant
between
creation and publication,
I am convinced
that this poem cannot be
improved.

But note,
it is never the claim,
that the poem is
any good.

I write
so that I may express
what I had genuinely felt
for a few moments.
Leocardo Reis Dec 2021
A stiff breeze
brushes against
flushed cheeks,
chattering teeth
and naked hands;
a winter night.
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