I realize the ripple effect that monstrous attack in Paris
caused by Isis. But no matter what, do not let these events
make us prisioners from freedom. Ben Franklin himself warned that to seek so much security is to give up our freedom; so here goes...

They walk into darkness
exiled from fear

Relinquished               cerebral thoughts,

freedom wanes,

dissolved                      into                rote-r­eality,

into a spirit of ****,

cast                    downtrodden,

embracing submissive bogus security

You wanted madness, chaos, rush, desire;
You touched all, from close enough, to get addicted
You desired more, you desired lust;
You went ahead grabbed it, as it was your right
You kept on being greedy;
You made it into a companionship
You got love, chaos, madness, lust, companionship;
But then you didn't have the desire left
You had to leave
You had to hurt
You had to separate
And she had to move on

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.