What can the rich know of hunger
Or the starved stark raving mad life
Pursued by those they call fortuneless -
Those who carry with them every penny of affection, rolling each coin along naked fingers, eyeing the emblem of trust engraved, the stubborn profile revealing merely one side of the man - will this one be kind to the touch
And once spent go farther than commercial advertisements could ever know, will the time spent be earned back by a truthsome look given freely and the admittance of wishing for more time with the other, more than the span of an hour within a night but wishing for a thousand nights further, mornings, afternoons, and twilights in between - serving only to waken and from the coins face glean that an hour has passed and while passing the mirror has changed its occupant: the trees outside have all turned green.

I love the simple fact of thinking,
you that I love you not for your blood ...
but because you are a flower
that rests his head on my universe.


My hands smell your sweet hair,
scattered will feel blessed
I sing well without despair
whose golden peace in your image becomes clear ...


With my kisses transfer my manners used
see you in sunny days,
so the sun shines digging my dreams of being your shadow ...

My heart washes a crack,
it your eyes are weary
who they yearn for her beloved membrane iris
filling the rivers of my opponent's leisure,
looking pronounce your voice ..
and the breakdown of his departure ...


My wealth  sleep in your eyes,
and between evils is not expected mourn my heart
to see if they share your favour,
believing drop the living part in your hands ...


But I'll risk on your behalf,
and living piece belong to the bare life of summer;
presence of my live and see you reap the fruits of my love
idle the heart of summer brought me in your dreams ...


Come close my eyelids,
sleep open my chest ...
deepening the tenderness of your face ...
If one day I was sad,
it was for the vast fortuneless not know your face;
emerging as the delicate flower in spring ...


If it is denied me your face ...
singing laugh by rain,
and the more rain,
I love you more ...


Why sing your beautiful smile today ...?
God will be philosophy ...
or those made melodies of my conscience,
I feel regretful that shrink ...


Maybe it's the air you breathe beautiful inside me
knotting the tulip flowers on the field dreamed ...
or capricious knots of my soul,
young death squeezing in the corner ...


When you turn this beautiful candle;
you see beautiful smile flying beyond despair ...
watching your walk near my poems ...


My madness brief for you,
It's like winning your sky ...
He laughs too proud to learn that a secret,
runs through the fields to kiss your hands ...


Now I'm afraid to run away and be my destroyer ...
I just want the flame of your life
jump to the roof of my heart
and say with gentle gestures of your face,
Here I come to do your grief like mine,
see where your laughter despite my blindness
hitting my eyes adoring you ...!


Do not talk with deadly words
talk to dreams that are passions of hell feel ...
and so gentle message of your love,
I have to entrust your peace and service ...
raising hopes for new ...

I ask the confidence of call,
with all the names that talk about you ...!


José Luis Carreño Troncoso /  copyright 15

Will this be how I end?
A series of fortuneless failings forging fake ideas on which I depend,
Will this be how I end?
Messy myriads of malicious and mundane men and woman of disdain for each a pain they recommend,
Is this how I end?
An audacious allegory screaming to the world with hopes in vain and civil likings I pretend,
Is this how it all ends?
The subtle cries and whimpers of the weak and weary through a touch screen connection to my friends?
Is this how my world ends?
Taking nothing with us but leaving a thousand things owned by men who pretend to give yet do nothing but lend
Is this my end?
The teetering tempting footsteps on a ledge to leap and leave nothing less, than a pavement canvas of crimson and marrow blend,
to bend my will against the curb that will not bend and send a message to a nihilistic god screaming nothing will this mend,
so then to the torturous temptations that in my mind I tend I say,
The end?

a test:
a squinting smiling blue tie devil
or
a talking head in a red dress

telling us
to be impressed
we’re not broke, we’re blessed
fortunate, not fortuneless
anywhere we are
we are a welcome guest
we arent repressed
we arent oppressed
we arent depressed
we sure as **** arent stressed
the ****** machine is at rest
when its really working at its best
how dare we stand and protest
though there be a target on our chest
liberty and justice for all
save those we detest

you may think this a jest
but do second guess

the amiable, the iritable,
the inflexible, the concedable,
we the people in recess

we made this mess

so i’ve one simple request:
progress
or be a whole lot less

The connection is lost, please try again later.
I will try to connect to life
for the forsaken bodies,
for the forgotten souls,
for the fortuneless lives.
Hope is the beacon to retain the connection

But when my mind and soul separate,
and my body falls apart,
I have nothing to speak of,
and I have nothing to courage me,
to move me outward, toward—
Even though I am the connection itself.

Energetically lost,
Connection blooms over my head,
like a halo would.
The faintishness situation,
like a dead battery does.