"guerrero" poems
#Ogun owed Oxun for the fee he paid
to divorce Yemayá in the watery deep.
Babalu Aye‘s messenger delayed
(no *** in the bargain – price too steep)
until San Martín, divine caballero
deceived the third wife of el Indio Guerrero.
(Obatala‘s beats got lost in transit
the rhythm robbed by macumba-bandit.)
Eleguá cleared paths for He Who Opens Pores.
Black roosters smoked puros at midnight. Outdoors,
Santa Muerte was asked to turn down the noise
so Nana Buluku could get some sleep.
As she gathered Ashé, reduced to a heap
of Yoruba fool’s gold anointed with blood
Oduduwa pretended he understood;
but his mother-in-law knew he never would
until Olódùmarè returned from the feast
having sacrificed roosters while facing east.
The santero drew me a pictogram
to protect me from forces my poem conjured
but the blood of a sacrificed perfect lamb
affords more protection, I knew. He wondered.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
Dear Gandia Guerrero,
Girl, I am going to miss you
like the world would miss the sun
Because you bring warmth to me
everyday that you are here
I am going to miss those times when you told me
That I was dumb, I was crazy cause
only you could tell me those things
With a smile on your face
You and me are like thick as theives
But don't theives leave
each other eventually
Lol, nah we ain't never going to do that
Cause I know our paths will cross some day
Keep your head up
Never let anything down except your hair.
Love you and I will miss you
Your BEST GUY FRIEND WHO WILL CRY WHEN YOU LEAVE,
WHO WILL MISS YOU
WHO WILL WIRTE TO YOU WHEN HE CAN
WHO LOVES YOU DEARLY
Francisco D.H
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
*This is classico amor, un amor con mucho valor.
Como tequila y limón, este amor tiene un poderoso sabor.
Baby you make me feel passionate like listening to a Vicente Fernandez song and you feel it hit you in your Core.
Everyday is Valentine's s Day when I'm with you.
Everyday I appreciate you.
You know how much I love to sing to you, how much I like to express how I feel through music and poetry.
Princesa, yo soy tu Guerrero De Amor, el único que sabe como quererte fuerte y suavecito.*
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
Remember when you were just a kid
How you would sit on the beach for hours
Waiting for the Sun to finally set
Sleep on the beach
Because you were tired from the day
Remember how you would get chased
By the girls at your Elementary school
Hahah you had good times
Till you found out and could really understand
That the woman who lived in your house
Who always sent you off to school
Who kissed you good night
Who told you she loved you
Remember how you felt
How you grew so angry
Because the truth was that this woman
Wasn't your real biological mother
Your real one abandoned you
She left you at 13 months old
Left in the middle of the day
In ***** soiled diapers
She would pass out from the alcohol
Crash from the high
That the drugs gave her
Leaving you hungry for hours
Waking up when your father came home
Or her drug dealer wanted something in return
Just because she didn't have the money
Remember all of those things
Remember when you met her for the first time
She asked your stepmom
"Who is that? Is that Jr?"
Yeah it was you
Grown up and matured
Remember the thought that passed through your mind
How can she not know who the **** you are
Remember how angry you were
See I know all of this because
Well simply put I am you
I am 17 years of age
I want you to remember the way you were
Because with age comes wisdom
And I have been privelaged enough
To have a good sense of observation
I have become very wise
Well we have become very wise
See I miss those times
When we would ride our skateboard
Or try to blow things up with a firecracker
Hahaha remember those times
Look I don't know if you remember all of this
But if you ever get a chance to read this
Know that I hate us
I hate all of the darkness
I hate every poem I write
I hate everything I think about
Simply because the darkness is towards her
The poems are written for nobody but somebody
And the things I think about
Keep me up well into the late hours of the day
Robert
I hope you get a chance to read this
Because this poem may be the last
You may never get a chance to read this
Because I hate the fact that I have so much pain
So much of useless emotions
And I am tired of dying within words
Written on a piece of paper
I want to embrace death
So hopefully one day you will read this
Even if you come back in a different life
As somebody or somehing else
Just read at least one line of this
So the past doesn't repeat itself
I hope you can forgive me
Sincerly,
Robert Guerrero
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
La alcachofa
de tierno corazón
se vistió de guerrero,
erecta, construyó
una pequeña cúpula,
se mantuvo
impermeable
bajo
sus escamas,
a su lado
los vegetales locos
se encresparon,
se hicieron
zarcillos, espadañas,
bulbos conmovedores,
en el subsuelo
durmió la zanahoria
de bigotes rojos,
la viña
resecó los sarmientos
por donde sube el vino,
la col
se dedicó
a probarse faldas,
el orégano
a perfumar el mundo,
y la dulce
alcachofa
allí en el huerto,
vestida de guerrero,
bruñida
como una granada,
orgullosa,
y un día
una con otra
en grandes cestos
de mimbre, caminó
por el mercado
a realizar su sueño:
la milicia.
En hileras
nunca fue tan marcial
como en la feria,
los hombres
entre las legumbres
con sus camisas blancas
eran
mariscales
de las alcachofas,
las filas apretadas,
las voces de comando,
y la detonación
de una caja que cae,
pero
entonces
viene
María
con su cesto,
escoge
una alcachofa,
no le teme,
la examina, la observa
contra la luz como si fuera un huevo,
la compra,
la confunde
en su bolsa
con un par de zapatos,
con un repollo y una
botella
de vinagre
hasta
que entrando a la cocina
la sumerge en la olla.
Así termina
en paz
esta carrera
del vegetal armado
que se llama alcachofa,
luego
escama por escama
desvestimos
la delicia
y comemos
la pacífica pasta
de su corazón verde.
1.7k
Oh, Billy!
rebujando el olor acre
de la tierra
encontraste el dolor esencial
de los amantes.
Matando al guerrero Sartoris
resucitaste la voluntad férrea
de Moisés y su vara,
de Absalón y su escala.
¡Acompáñanos!
porque la novela no ha terminado:
se ha detenido
(un poco)
en el agonizante collado
para labrar la tierra
contigo, con ellos
y los otros
que conocen el misterio
pero apenas lo revelan.
Jorge Gómez Arias
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
My talents as a poet
As a master of my sanity
Have began to fade away
My freedom to write
Moving powerful emotional pieces
Has deteriorated before my eyes
I've calmed the monster
To ease my grandmothers fears
Of losing her only successful grandchild
I've silenced the voices
To ease my deceased great grandmothers worry
That I'll join her in the heavens of my fathers memories
I've noticed I'm now nothing
Just the average joe
Watching Netflix and eating popcorn
Listening to music dreaming of being something
I've noticed
You read my work
Watched me perform
Understood the hatred I feel
Felt the pain I've endured so long
Grasped the love I once expressed
Yet now you're only looking for those things again
Looking for the long poems I once enjoyed writing
The ones that erupted with passion
For all things I thought of
Five minute poems
One night stands with lines
****** paper with pen
As I forced it to swallow the inky ***
I've always wanted to write my last and final poem
To finally be free of my insanity
And embrace the story of peace and solitude
But in this world those are just mirages
Boiling from the hallucination of my desert mind
I've noticed
I truly am just Robert Guerrero
The guy who dreamed impossible dreams
Only because his talent dried up
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
*****
****
*****
*****
Nerd
Punk
******
First words out of your mouth
On the last day of my life
So moments before I pass away
I'll take the time to write them all
On the skin you feared would give you ***
******
Transvestite
Dweeb
*******
Seriously?
You don't remember it
The moments we bumped into each other
In almost every bathroom
Stuffing my face into the fresh ****
You just so happenly dropped
And had all your friends **** on me
As you flushed the toilet over and over again
I'm suprised
You were just joking about it in 5th hour
So allow me to introduce myself again
Hi my name is...
Not going to finish the statement
You usually do with
Queer
***
Short ****
My name has become whatever you decide to call me
And never once do you ever use the same one twice
But today I've kept track
Every name
Every moment in my high school history
Hell even in elementary and middle
You've been there every step of the way
Bullying me even more
Pounding me in the playground
Well I guess I'll show you what you called me
With the bruised body you left me
But I'll finish this off with my actual name ************
My name is Robert Guerrero
I was a poet, the voice to all the people
You thought were your stepping stones to success
Now I'm the corpse you left nameless
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
¡Cuán solitaria la nación que un día
poblara inmensa gente!
¡La nación cuyo imperio se extendía
del Ocaso al Oriente!
Lágrimas viertes, infeliz ahora,
soberana del mundo,
¡y nadie de tu faz encantadora
borra el dolor profundo!
Oscuridad y luto tenebroso
en ti vertió la muerte,
y en su furor el déspota sañoso
se complació en tu suerte.
No perdonó lo hermoso, patria mía;
cayó el joven guerrero,
cayó el anciano, y la segur impía
manejó placentero.
So la rabia cayó la virgen pura
del déspota sombrío,
como eclipsa la rosa su hermosura
en el sol del estío.
¡Oh vosotros, del mundo, habitadores!,
contemplad mi tormento:
¿Igualarse podrán ¡ah!, qué dolores
al dolor que yo siento?
Yo desterrado de la patria mía,
de una patria que adoro,
perdida miro su primer valía,
y sus desgracias lloro.
Hijos espurios y el fatal tirano
sus hijos han perdido,
y en campo de dolor su fértil llano
tienen ¡ay!, convertido.
Tendió sus brazos la agitada España,
sus hijos implorando;
sus hijos fueron, mas traidora saña
desbarató su bando.
¿Qué se hicieron tus muros torreados?
¡Oh mi patria querida!
¿Dónde fueron tus héroes esforzados,
tu espada no vencida?
¡Ay!, de tus hijos en la humilde frente
está el rubor grabado:
a sus ojos caídos tristemente
el llanto está agolpado.
Un tiempo España fue: cien héroes fueron
en tiempos de ventura,
y las naciones tímidas la vieron
vistosa en hermosura.
Cual cedro que en el Líbano se ostenta,
su frente se elevaba;
como el trueno a la virgen amedrenta,
su voz las aterraba.
Mas ora, como piedra en el desierto,
yaces desamparada,
y el justo desgraciado vaga incierto
allá en tierra apartada.
Cubren su antigua pompa y poderío
pobre yerba y arena,
y el enemigo que tembló a su brío
burla y goza en su pena.
Vírgenes, destrenzad la cabellera
y dadla al vago viento:
acompañad con arpa lastimera
mi lúgubre lamento.
Desterrados ¡oh Dios!, de nuestros lares,
lloremos duelo tanto:
¿quién calmará ¡oh España!, tus pesares?,
¿quién secará tu llanto?
1.5k
¿Tengo patria todavía?
¿Aún reconozco fronteras?
Hacia el norte el desierto
la montaña al oriente
y el mar y las islas qué son sino puertas
que se abren a todo el universo
¿Qué son sino puertas los hielos eternos?
¿Todavía tengo historia?
¿Tengo todavía monumentos?
He olvidado las batallas
he olvidado las fechas
sólo tengo memoria de caídos
por causas ajenas y pequeñas.
Mi único héroe guerrea con su verbo.
Y yo tengo otro ritmo
son otras mis leyes
y otras sutiles cacerías
con distintos trofeos
ocupan mi espacio y mi tiempo.
Y tengo tan solo un consejero.
Cómo hiere el filo de su lengua.
Y también tengo amigos
sólo íntimos amigos
que me traen caracolas y amatistas
y libros y flechas de silex.
Momentos dorados comparto con ellos
al calor de una taza de té.
Momentos surgidos de un sueño.
Y se va redondeando nuestra historia
sin tambores ni trompetas
en la pura amistad y en el silencio.
No tenemos fronteras
ni queremos monumentos.
Nuestro único guerrero
combate con el filo de su lengua.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC
Es algo formidable que vio la vieja raza:
robusto tronco de árbol al hombro de un campeón
salvaje y aguerrido, cuya fornida maza
blandiera el brazo de Hércules, o el brazo de Sansón.Por casco sus cabellos, su pecho por coraza,
pudiera tal guerrero, de Arauco en la región,
lancero de los bosques, Nemrod que todo caza,
desjarretar un toro, o estrangular un león.Anduvo, anduvo, anduvo. Le vio la luz del día,
le vio la tarde pálida, le vio la noche fría,
y siempre el tronco de árbol a cuestas del titán.«¡El Toqui, el Toqui!» clama la conmovida casta.
Anduvo, anduvo, anduvo. La aurora dijo: «Basta»,
e irguióse la alta frente del gran Caupolicán.
1.2k
My talents as a poet
As a master of my sanity
Have began to fade away
My freedom to write
Moving powerful emotional pieces
Has deteriorated before my eyes
I've calmed the monster
To ease my grandmothers fears
Of losing her only successful grandchild
I've silenced the voices
To ease my deceased great grandmothers worry
That I'll join her in the heavens of my fathers memories
I've noticed I'm now nothing
Just the average joe
Watching Netflix and eating popcorn
Listening to music dreaming of being something
I've noticed
You read my work
Watched me perform
Understood the hatred I feel
Felt the pain I've endured so long
Grasped the love I once expressed
Yet now you're only looking for those things again
Looking for the long poems I once enjoyed writing
The ones that erupted with passion
For all things I thought of
Five minute poems
One night stands with lines
****** paper with pen
As I forced it to swallow the inky ***
I've always wanted to write my last and final poem
To finally be free of my insanity
And embrace the story of peace and solitude
But in this world those are just mirages
Boiling from the hallucination of my desert mind
I've noticed
I truly am just Robert Guerrero
The guy who dreamed impossible dreams
Only because his talent dried up
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
// A que huele un guerrero cuando viene de batalla
huele a victoria, huele a victoria//
Por que Jehová está con él.
// Somos como escudos, tres son los valientes
y con su espiritu venceremos siempre//
A que huele un guerrero cuando viene de la batalla
A que huele un guerrero cuando viene de la batalla
//Huele a victoria, huele a victoria //
// Si con Dios peleas esto sabe a gloria// Sabe gloria
// Esto sabe a gloria, esto sabe a gloria
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
The spitting image
Was just in spitting distance
When she pricked herself in the spindle
And fell into spinet
Then ended up in the hospital on Guerrero street
The two dunderheads
Compared biceps
Engaged in a ******* contest
Their **** was red, forgot they had eaten beets
Now they're on their way to the hospital on Guerrero street
The embezzling imbecile
Who invented mystery meat
Was selling cowlicks at the concession stand
He had a heart attack when a horse voiced mulatto paid him in coins with no cash value
Now he's on a pram in the hospital on Guerrero street
The improviser had a bright idea
And epiphany
There was a light bulb above his head
But he was taken by the under tow and got water logged
Now he's held up in the hospital on Guerrero street
The beggar women ******* from a rusty spigot
Who studied the doctrine but didn't read the document or get the memo
That she was due for a mammogram, she was distressed
She could barely make ends meet
So now she brings he tin can of pennies with her to the hospital on Guerrero street
Amidst the unfortunate
Amongst the idiots
There is me, the one who got his hand stuck in peanut jar
Sitting in the waiting room damning myself in the hospital on Guerrero street
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
Un año antes del día, designado era
El mancebo sin tacha, cuyo cuerpo,
Perfecto igual en proporción que en alma,
Mantenían en delicia, y aprendía
A tañer flautas, cortar cañas de humo,
Recoger flores, aspirando su aroma,
Con gracia cortesana a expresarse y moverse.
Estaba luego su jornada exenta
De otro cuidado, e iba, ocioso y libre,
Por la espalda la cabellera oscura,
Ornado de guirnaldas y metales
El cuerpo, como el de un dios ungido,
Y a su paso los otros en honor le tenían
Hasta besar la tierra que pisaba.
Veinte días antes del día, desnuda ahora
La piel de los perfumes, afeites y resinas,
El cabello cortado como aquel de un guerrero,
Las galas ya trocadas por más simple atavío,
Puro en el cuerpo como puro en la mente,
Cuatro doncellas bajo nombres de diosas
Para acceso carnal destinadas le eran.
Cinco días antes del día, las finales
Fiestas le aderezaban, en jardines
De la ciudad, el campo, la colina y el lago,
Por cuyas aguas iba la falúa entoldada,
Con él y sus mujeres, para darle consuelo
Antes de desertarle, y en la ribera opuesta
Quedaba sólo al fin, sin afectos ni bienes.
Sobre cada escalón, en la pirámide del llano,
Cada una de las flautas tañidas por el gozo,
Rotas entre sus dedos, iban cayendo,
Hasta alcanzar el templo de la cima,
A cuyo umbral estaba el sacerdote:
Como una de sus cañas, allí, rota la vida,
Quedaba en su hermosura para siempre.
1.1k
Madre, yo al oro me humillo,
Él es mi amante y mi amado,
Pues de puro enamorado
De contino anda amarillo.
Que pues doblón o sencillo
Hace todo cuanto quiero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Nace en las Indias honrado,
Donde el Mundo le acompaña;
Viene a morir en España,
Y es en Génova enterrado.
Y pues quien le trae al lado
Es hermoso, aunque sea fiero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Es galán, y es como un oro,
Tiene quebrado el color,
Persona de gran valor,
Tan Cristiano como Moro.
Pues que da y quita el decoro
Y quebranta cualquier fuero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Son sus padres principales,
Y es de nobles descendiente,
Porque en las venas de Oriente
Todas las sangres son Reales.
Y pues es quien hace iguales
Al duque y al ganadero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Mas ¿a quién no maravilla
Ver en su gloria, sin tasa,
Que es lo menos de su casa
Doña Blanca de Castilla?
Pero pues da al bajo silla
Y al cobarde hace guerrero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Sus escudos de Armas nobles
Son siempre tan principales,
Que sin sus Escudos Reales
No hay Escudos de armas dobles.
Y pues a los mismos robles
Da codicia su minero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Por importar en los tratos
Y dar tan buenos consejos,
En las Casas de los viejos
Gatos le guardan de gatos.
Y pues él rompe recatos
Y ablanda al juez más severo,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Y es tanta su majestad
(Aunque son sus duelos hartos),
Que con haberle hecho cuartos,
No pierde su autoridad.
Pero pues da calidad
Al noble y al pordiosero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Nunca vi Damas ingratas
A su gusto y afición,
Que a las caras de un doblón
Hacen sus caras baratas.
Y pues las hace bravatas
Desde una bolsa de cuero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.Más valen en cualquier tierra,
(Mirad si es harto sagaz)
Sus escudos en la paz
Que rodelas en la guerra.
Y pues al pobre le entierra
Y hace proprio al forastero,
Poderoso Caballero
Es don Dinero.
1.1k
R.I.P
Robert Louis Guerrero Jr.
That's really all there is to say
Everything to be put on my headstone
To mark my final resting place
I can't be certain when it will be my time
I have lied many times over
I have cheated just o get where I am
I have stolen things that should of never been tampered with
I mocked the life I was given
Secrets hold bounty's of truths
That no man or woman should ever know
But here is one
I attempted suicide four times
Each time I failed
I cut my wrist almost every night
I recently stopped for the sake of my heart
I drink like alcohol is going out of style
I have stopped again for my heart
You may be wondering why I have 1996-????
As the title to this redundant poem
Well it's to say that even though I am 17 years old
I am too young to die
Even the good who have died young
Wish they lived to see tomorrow alive
I have been told that I'm too young to hate this world
Yet I have seen enough of it to know
This place isn't for me
I'm not going to **** myself
The world is
They're going to pull this trigger
They're going to carve rivers into my wrist
They're going to determine whether I live or die
That is the reason for the "????"
Because I don't know when
This world will surprise me
By introducing me to Death's cold bony hand
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 2:46 AM UTC
Me gustas por la boca
Por el acto guerrero
De liberar de la sombra
De aquel claustro o sendero
A tu ágil pensar
Besarte es el alimento
Escucharte el agua
Sin la cual pronto
Muy pronto
Se deja de vivir.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
I'm your father
I want you to read this very carefully
I want you to understand something
I love you
I will always be proud of you
I'm 17 years old now
You are just a thought
You do not exist yet
But I want to tell you this now
Just in case I never come home again
I love you
I want you to know
I wish I could be there for your birthday
Wrap the presents on Christmas
Give you the keys to the car
When you're on your first date
I want to give you the money
So you can buy whatever you want
But if circumstances arise and conflict that
Know my dear son
I love you
I will be watching over you
You are a Guerrero
A warrior
So bear through the obstacles
Stay in school
Get good grades
Don't make the mistakes I have made
Love ever minute of your life
It's fragile and still young
I want to watch you get married
Become the man I never was
Son I love you
You have made me proud
And you haven't even been born yet
Nor have I even consummated with your mother
But I want you to know
I am a part of you
I want you know nothing of me
Just know I am your father
That I love you
That I am proud of you
Son you have a bright future
Just never let anybody say you are worthless
Don't fight with your mother
She loves you
She had to adjust to taking care of you
I wish you never have to read this
Because if you do
Then that means I am deceased and gone
But know I love you
I wish I could be there to give you the things
I was never blessed with
I want you to know
I have been through a lot
And my biggest mistake I will make
Is not being there for you
When you come out of your mother
I want to cry when I see you
I want to hold you
I want to tell you I love you
Look into your eyes
And say "You're a better man than I"
Son I love you
Never stop moving
Go forward and turn the world upside down
You made me proud
Long before you were born
Because you are my son
And I know you will go farther than me
Because you know I love you
Son Ti amo
Ask your mom what that means
You're not alone
I'm in your veins
I'm every breath you take
I'm you because you are me
You're my son
So son, go far
When it feels like a dream
That's when it is real
Sincerely, Your Father,
Robert L. Guerrero
P.S. I love you
Good night
Sweet dreams
Tell your mom I love her
Tell her good night for me
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
May I have your attention please
This is not a hoax
There have been reports
Of a mass suicide
Death count has reached over
800,000 per 1,000,000 people per year
Most commonly happens to youths and females
This is a plead with the nation
A global catastrophe
So please listen and try
To understand what is happening
In our society today
When you see a young adolescent
Comment on how hard he works
Not on his skin color or his preference in clothes
Nor his ideas about life
When you see a female
Don't call her ugly
Don't call her fat
Don't disregard her in any means
Compliment her on her eyes
The way she smiles
Make the world a better place
If you see a youth in distress
Offer some assistance
This Is A Public Announcement
Please do not disregard
A life might just be saved
If you listen for once
Help your fellow man out
We are all we have
This is Robert Guerrero
With DOBS News saying
Thank you and goodnight
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
I know this might hurt your feelings
I know I'm the only hope to save this family
My success is just the beginning
Yet I can't hold every responsibility
I have feelings too
None of which are good
I've contemplated suicide
I've even attempted
Yet here I am
Writing you again
This time publically
To hope that you can understand
I hate this life
I hate being me
I hate being the only one of four
To actually see the 12th grade
To actually have colleges chanting my name
Because they know I'll be in a dorm sooner or later
Grandma I wish you could see the man
All my darkest dreams and thoughts have made me
I'm partially human
Yet I still wake up every morning
Plaster on a smile
And say I love you
Even if it is in a text
You're all I have left in this god forsaken world
Well unless you want to include Natalie
I haven't talked to her in a while
But I hope she's doing well
Grandma when do I get to say I'm home
You were always the one to give me advice
Help me now
I'm lost and only going down
I want something poetry can give me
A sense of freedom
I know I'll be 18 in February
But I'll just want my youth back
I'll want the world I once knew back in my reach
I want the *** the drugs the alcohol
The constant screams I'd wake up to
Even if they were my own
I want all the faces of every girl I've been with
Screaming at me how much they hate me
I want their hands around my throat
In and out of reality
Grandma I hope you can understand I'm no longer
Just the successful one
I'm the one that wants what nobody understands
Because they all want to embrace my success
As if it were their own
Sincerely,
Your Grandson,
Robert L. Guerrero
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Madre, yo al oro me humillo,
Él es mi amante y mi amado,
Pues de puro enamorado
Anda continuo amarillo.
Que pues doblón o sencillo
Hace todo cuanto quiero,
Poderoso caballero
Es don Dinero.Nace en las Indias honrado,
Donde el mundo le acompaña;
Viene a morir en España,
Y es en Génova enterrado.
Y pues quien le trae al lado
Es hermoso, aunque sea fiero,
Poderoso caballero
Es don Dinero.Son sus padres principales,
Y es de nobles descendiente,
Porque en las venas de Oriente
Todas las sangres son Reales.
Y pues es quien hace iguales
Al rico y al pordiosero,
Poderoso caballero
Es don Dinero.¿A quién no le maravilla
Ver en su gloria, sin tasa,
Que es lo más ruin de su casa
Doña Blanca de Castilla?
Mas pues que su fuerza humilla
Al cobarde y al guerrero,
Poderoso caballero
Es don Dinero.Es tanta su majestad,
Aunque son sus duelos hartos,
Que aun con estar hecho cuartos
No pierde su calidad.
Pero pues da autoridad
Al gañán y al jornalero,
Poderoso caballero
Es don Dinero.Más valen en cualquier tierra
(Mirad si es harto sagaz)
Sus escudos en la paz
Que rodelas en la guerra.
Pues al natural destierra
Y hace propio al forastero,
Poderoso caballero
Es don Dinero.
773
cruse la frontera
Cruse el mar
Contra las tormentas
Todo para tu mirar
No mi pararon las balas de un güero
Por tu amor mi converti en tu Guerrero
Cruse la frontera por ti mi Mexicana
Para que vivemos juntos en nuestra
Casablanca
Jul 19, 2024
Jul 19, 2024 at 2:32 AM UTC