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prompty Oct 2020
the grave on a cold autumn morning,
the city has taken a beating again
with its slurs flattening the streets.

goebbels is well alive beyond the print.

watch as the dumbfounded are left behind
to give place to the ones moved by easy
words and rattle-snake promises.

"it's never me, it's always they,
it's never us, it's always me".

patton slapped two soldiers for crying about the horrors of war.
I'm sure they always intended on ending the war
even if they liked to roleplay the romans a bit.
prompty May 2020
amo-te em suspiros de doze segundos,
e sabes que é verdade,
porque quando estamos juntos,
tenho saudades por não estar contigo.

amo-te mais que a monotonia
que me atravessa o ser,
e não sei bem o porquê,
o poder que uma mensagem tua
tem sobre o meu estoicismo

sem razão ou emoção,
ou lógica,
mas de outra forma não seria amor,
ou tivesse eu controlo
não te amaria
nem a ti nem a ninguém,
e não seria amor o que me faz acordar
todos os dias,
porque sem amor o que é que existe,
o grande talvez.

por me quereres não querer mais nada,
porque no fim do dia,
fazes dissolver o peso de um mundo sem ti,
e é algo que qualquer um amaria sentir
no fim do dia.
prompty Oct 2019
Autumn again,
as expected.

The old are gone,
and now their hubris burns
on our youthful years.

The weight of spring is light.
One day, we'll remember it
and share a laugh.
prompty Jun 2019
I have the soul of a drunk.

Her legs spread out,
all silence and no heart.

Sometimes home comes to mind.
prompty Dec 2018
Standing in marble awe,
contemplating this winter night,
my soul searching continues,
ruining the age of another wine.

Walk with me, in the maze park.
The north will settle,
we'll light another cigar.

Here lies, optional,
my emotional litter -
the tiredness of
walking over water
and taking over the sins.

Paying no mind to this finite state -
the gone moment of our walk
lingering on the shoulders
of my solitude.

See, these are simple equations,
and they are my solace -
the exciting unknown
divided by knowledge.

This is dawn setting on someones window,
yet to bloom, yet to rise.
prompty Jan 2018
There’s no crime
in writing.

It has always been here:
the thrill of choosing the words
that benefit other words the most.

There’s a simple rule in writing
(maybe the only 1):
A thought comes out
and hopefully, when written down,
turned into strings of words,
the idea it provides may
an exciting way of
seeing the world.

Sometimes it happens.
Sometimes, it never does.

To some, words are enough.
Others need music or imagery.

I guess to each his own
and that might serve the truth
that we, each of us, are
and that in our
we get excited by our own
which in turn provide us of our own

But whatever:
I say what I say, at the end of the day.
And your judgement
is your own.

Still, truth be told,
no harm done
in letting it all out,
all at once.
prompty Dec 2016
To me,
words are this:
the perimeter of reason.

And if you solve the puzzle
and order them correctly,
you can calculate the area
of the entire universe,

and no more will you be lost
in its complex mysteries.
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