"mosa" poems
Faltar pudo su Patria al grande Osuna,
Pero no a su defensa sus hazañas;
Diéronle Muerte y Cárcel las Españas,
De quien él hizo esclava la Fortuna.
Lloraron sus envidias una a una
Con las propias Naciones las Extrañas;
Su Tumba son de Flandes las Campañas,
Y su Epitafio la sangrienta Luna.
En sus exequias encendió al Vesubio
Parténope, y Trinacria al Mongibelo;
El llanto militar creció en diluvio.
Diole el mejor lugar Marte en su Cielo;
La Mosa, el Rhin, el Tajo y el Danubio
Murmuran con dolor su desconsuelo.
472
i’m starting to wonder if it was ever real
the way you stared at me, enraptured by my average eyes and mundane smile
the way you touched me, gentle yet callous in a way that covered the pain
the way you called out to me, as if my name was the last drop of water and you were searching for an oasis
was it ever real?
it was real when we sat in the back corner of Mosa,
i could feel it then, i know i could
you could too
could you?
it was real when i unravelled you with the tips of my fingers, the graze of my mouth - you were mine
it was real in that moment
because you gave yourself to me
and in that moment you made your name mine
the sky has never looked darker, even though i am absolutely sure that the sun was gleaming just yesterday
but the sky has never looked darker
and i’m starting to wonder if the light was ever real either
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC