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.

I was probably halfway through my lunch
when you told me you were leaving.
I laughed, then.
All the times I read aloud to you the poems
made of words that had blossomed
from my eager hands still tingling
from the memory of your skin.
I laughed, then.

It took effort to swallow my scalding microwaved food,
yet the only things burning
were my eyes and your words.

I would dry your eyes if it
meant drowning in your tears

I would calm your demons if it
meant falling with your fears

I would fight your struggles if it
meant suffering your strife

I would trade your death if it
meant giving you my life

©

In whispers I hear the voices of past

So very loud once, I thought they would last

In shadows I see the loved ones I knew

But the clearest of all is the shadow of you

I can still feel your touch, with eyes closed and mind still

As if heaven allows my heart now to fill

The gift of your love was so strong but so brief

The love in my heart has turned now to grief