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A Sad Alex Jul 24
Como se plasma un momento
Un instante que el mundo ignoro
En un espacio tan pequeño
Un cuadro tan grande, claustrofóbico

Ni siquiera los vimos llegar
Ni advertir el suave sonido del motor,
Y con solo presionar un botón
Empieza la cacofonía de la destrucción

Desde tan alto se siente distante
Roba la distancia su intensidad
Que a los sentidos enmudece
Un llanto tan lastimoso
No hay garganta que lo ofrezca

¿Que hacer con la sangre que mancha el suelo?
Adorna la metralla que invade la carne
¿Que hacer con las lagrimas en mi pecho?
Cada gota cargada miedo

¿A quien pedidos salvamento?
¿Al cielo del que caen las bombas?
¿Que hacemos en este cuarto tan pequeño?
Donde cabe la infinidad y todas sus horas

Anclado al suelo por miedo
Morir aquí o afuera, no hace diferencia
Moriremos todos como perros
Sin misericordia, sin complacencia.

¿Es nuestra vida tan barata para la estabilidad?
Para un tirano que cambia de disfraz
¿Cree que nos protege? ¿Defiende la paz?
La paz no debería de explotar
Y nuestra carne rajar
Nuestros hijos matar
Mi sangre derramar
Mis animales desollar
Mi tierra reventar
Mi patria...

Ahora la muerte toma su lugar
Conquista el cuarto, en nombre de la paz
De los fantasmas, los espectros la paz
Susurran lastimosos este momento
Su gritos sigilosos entre la ruinas
Alaridos que se lleva el viento
Irónico de verdad, que en vida se lleven
Lo que me prometía la eternidad.
A Sad Alex Mar 6
Is how different you are
From the best person you could be
Measured in laziness, hubris, or your sin of choice
To be so close from greatness
Only to fall short
That is true suffering
To endure
And forevermore
A Sad Alex Mar 6
The music roused something in me
That was asleep for so long
Every note of the song made me a traitor
A cheater, a hateful turncoat
For I thought myself impervious
To such lowly tempations of men
But in my hubris, I forgot of my flesh
That makes as falliable as any of them.

And to remember the time my heart belonged to her
She of caramel eyes and flowing brown hair
Holding my heart in so tight a grip
The beating of drums ******* that of what she held
My mind filled the void the distance between us made
As my lips craved hers to kiss
But in a frenzy, kisses turn to passions unbound
To make every inch of her mine, in her body to drown
To her undrapped form, a moment lost in time
The symphony of our ****** filled the air of night.


And now, temperance has taken hold
And a new love, her place
And while I love her indeed, exciment in life
It seems to have... Faded away
The love I thought my beloved has
Isn´t wholly her own
So long as the music plays I fear
My desires bubble and tumble
To give in to my lust.
A Sad Alex Jan 17
This is my poem
There are many like it, but this one is mine
Into the madness inside my mind, a visage
In my splintering reality, something to hold on tight

This is my poem
There are many like it, yet this one is mine
Many poets there are
Who have talent in *****
Who craft masterpiece regularly
As I watch in their shade

I still hold on to my poem
There are many like it, but this one is mine
From the pain of sight. A relief
From existing's anguish. A vent
The reason for my heart to beat
And for my blood to flood my veins

This is my poem
My poem, only mine
You can't buy, or take it
You can't understand what it's like
For there to be a million of poems
And for this sad collection of words
To be mine
All... Mine...
A Sad Alex Jan 2
Poet is the weaver of words
With every verse, a thread
The pen a needle
To craft most beatiful attire a quest
Of songs, poems and hymns

Muscian brings poetry to life
The words dance to the beat of drums
Ears serenated by dulcet tones
That spring forth from a beatiful voice

Warrior is the bringer of war
Weapon in hand, death in his eyes
His foes defeated, the land crimson
His craft is to bring death, until death bites back.

Widow is the one who lost it all
To the neverending tones of wars
The blood shed paid in tears
And the space never to be filled.

Poets gain inspiration
The deeds of conquerors assured
If the lands don´t remember their names
Our poems will forevermore
The muscian take the poem
And turns into song
Their names celebrated in taverns
And cheered all night long
The warrior will follow to drums
The neverending beats of war
To fight for conquerors a endevour most noble
Relish the carnage, bathe in the blood
And widows will be on their knees
Not singing songs or reciting hymns
Tears on her eyes, cursed name on their lips
Wondering how will she feed herself until next spring
A Sad Alex Jan 1
I was a soldier of Rome
and my thoat is now split open
Split it was by a Gaul
Fighting to destroy the Republic.
I hope the earth is nourished by my blood
And life grows from it
For so much has been lost
In this senseless slaughter.
Do they not see the light of Rome?
Civilizations luster?
We bring fire to the shadows of the world
To cast them aside, tear them asunder.
Our cause is just, our will cannnot be stopped
The world shall be roman
We bring justice and order!
My sword may decorate the ground
And my armour my lifeless body
Behind me marches the strength of legions
From it ten more will take my place
For victory! For glory!

I was a warrior from Gaul
Sixteen springs alive
Cut down in my prime
To defend my home
From Rome´s thrist for land
They come forth from beyond the mountains
A ravenous, barbarous horde
They loot, and ****, and pillage
Torching everything they touch
Can they not see our life is just?
And it is peace, not man, who governs this grooves?
We live, we love, we grow
They tend to their business and we to ours.
Yet they now come
And my body may give life to the forests
And from the forests forth shall spring my brothers
To ****! For victory and glory!

I am a crow

I shall feast on them both

Life shall indeed spring forth

The maggots

The flies

And many, many more of us.
I always wanted to try my hand at a poem with historical flavor
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
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