"unlearned" poems
The Beauty Of Wisdom And Intelligence,
You are seen in the Cosmic Reality herself,
You are the female part of Christ, called Wisdom and Intelligence,
Your Cosmic Math's is a beautiful thing to behold,
That a unlearned person like me who loves sports like me who is too unlearned in the world's eyes to understand the beauty of the Math's of the Cosmic Reality herself,
So only the real genius mind's understand your true beauty in the Cosmic Reality herself,
But I was good enough at math's at college to get a 98% in a test score and student tutored a girl in class called Bev.
But Wisdom and Intelligence; you really enlightened great minds like Newton, Einstein and Hawking's?
So Wisdom and Intelligence hear my simple math's plea, I am alone and the math's of Wisdom and Intelligence say's its not right for man to be alone?
So make the one alone into two and then the two become one again?
So my math's is simple and unlearned by Wisdom and Intelligence's mathematical eyes; but its the most beautiful sum in the Cosmic Reality herself?
So Wisdom and Intelligence says I've done the math's?
I've marked your sum; I have graded your test paper A+ and gifted you a younger sister bride to be the sum of sums for all eternality,
This younger sister bride will never divide her love for you,
Because one divide into two should stay two, but by theoretical mathematician's the two become the perfect nought number of one raised to nought or zero power nought or zero is one for all eternality,
You shall always be one in body, heart, mind and soul,
You will always have Wisdom and Intelligence tutoring you about the beauty in the Math's of the Cosmic Reality herself,
But never forget to look up at the star's, nebula's and galaxies together and the two who are one see the Math's of love in each other's eyes and the math's of love in the Cosmic Reality herself.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
Consequences: made for learning lessons
I convert unlearned lessons
Turned to abnormal blessings
Stretching the truth to hold you
Pricked by your gorgeous daze
I bleed profusely, yet don’t turn away
The love I swore to keep
My blood tells other tales
Intoxicated from your smell
Continuing to caress your sides
Wincing in pain
Feeling as if there’s something to gain
No end to my quest in sight
Finding the rose I thought I would need
Loving the one that caused me to bleed
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Step by step it flows
Unleashing trapped desires
Edifying body and soul
Unifying humankind in entire.
Reaching within depths untold
Possessing, with grooves so bold
With rhythmic waves and strides
Varying from tribe to tribe.
Dancing is a rite
Not a mere reaction to music
Dancing is a language
Spoken in the voice of the body
As music transpires with bodies
Bodies of beautiful maidens
Bodies- voluptuous, with sweat
Leaving our warriors gasping!
Dancing to the beats
Dancing to the rhythm
Dancing in the heat
Like horses never ridden
Dancing is a bond unbroken
An expression of feelings unspoken
Well spoken by the untrained
Well grasped by the unlearned
Birthing in the cries of Ogene
Riding on the waves of Udu
Floating on the wings of Ekwe
Gliding in the ripples of Oja
It is the essence of our tradition
Passed from generations of old
We express it proudly
As we answer the call of Igba.
© Raphael Uzor
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
-for Zukiswa Mvunguse~
and for
~ Jul,
who once again,
loved each line best~
having already deduced that:
“the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloratura”^
the titled alliteration teases him into thinking
there, is more to be said,
more to be prayed,
the unplanned lesser lesson is as-of-the-yet unlearned,
and the sunburst of a full fledged
lying-in-bed born from a static spark of kinetic energy,
awaking in an unfamiliar bed
or a too familiar state of mind,
begs for birth and vainglorious death-by-anon/amity
of another poem
I have written poems commissioned,
“write about suicide,” asked a friend,
“take this word and artfully knead it,” once, was once an oft request,
twisty manipulate your scheming resources into
finely assaying a field rock raw,
laboratory mind-mine it into an essay that delve dives
where you fear to treacherous tread,
resultant, an awkward prayer, now, a valued mineral
no poem is truly planned and no prayer ever truly answered,
but as you compose, pushing the last, next word
ever farther to the right,
you self-confess, expecting no absolution, that the poem,
this one as well,
and the next, and the next, and the next
has always been planned since your inception,
always a prayer asked, and in creation conception,
answered even if not directly answered,
for
in the bare minimum asking,
is the answering,
is the planning,
is the poem and the prayer,
is his owned
alliteration
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 8:16 AM UTC
I was enriched, not casting after marvels,
But as one walking in a usual place,
Without desert but common eyes and ears,
No recourse but to hear, power but to see,
Got to love you of grace.
Subtle musicians, that could body wind,
Or contrive strings to anguish, in conceit
Random and artless strung a branch with bells,
Fixed in one silver whim, which at a touch
Shook and were sweet.
And you, you lovely and unpurchased note,
One run distraught, and vexing hot and cold
To give to the heart’s poor confusion tongue,
By chance caught you, and henceforth all unlearned
Repeats you gold.
2.9k
I have exhausted my ink, my pen, my hand.
My tongue has unlearned all languages,
all terms of endearment and soft sayings.
I am no longer flesh, no longer blood,
but have transformed myself into wind:
a wind that has traveled the oceans for you,
a wind that has discovered Africa's worth,
that has lifted me into an African skirt
where the origin of everything began.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Life lessons - left unlearned
Our compulsion to stare at the sun - leaves eyes burned
Victory through union and acceptance - easily gained.
Escaping loneliness and its crimson stain
( entered in soulpoetrysite.com Acrostic competition---Jan 2010 WINNER)
**
Loneliness-
Overcome
Vapidity-
Escaped.
( entered in soulpoetrysite.com Acrostic competition--)
**
Lessons learned,
Our unblind hearts reveal our most
Valued visions are
Everywhere
**
Life Lessons learned,
Our unchained hearts reveal
Victorious vision
Escaping
**
Leaving
Out
Vaccuous
Emotion
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
I love too much, but not too often.
My heart gets broken, but I keep going.
I am transparent, iridescent like glass,
So when you strike with the force of a hammer you leave more than a crack.
My heart is fragile, a bird with a broken wing.
I thought you would fix it and make it continue to sing.
I stand tall and confident in all my feelings,
Something that’s scary to you who is not used to these dealings.
I feel shame for the way I am.
Feeling love and passion for you that I wish I could bury in the sand.
A treasure left for you to uncover,
Not something I should have exposed to you undiscovered.
I tend to frighten away the one my heart wants to hold,
Do you see me as crazy, uncontrolled, too bold?
I often take broken loves words and wear them as scars.
Reminders of lessons unlearned and love unforetold by the stars.
I try their words on as an outfit of choice.
If I can change who I am, maybe for once someone will appreciate my voice.
But often times it’s too late.'
My true self exposed in revelations of hate.
No matter how hard I try to mold and bend,
I can’t change who I am, I can’t please every man.
But for some reason I never stop trying.
I can never give up my mind and hearts constant fighting.
I literally drive myself insane for a chance at true love.
I let my mind run wild for an ecstasy that will never come.
Because if I am changing who I am to achieve what I was fooled to see as true,
I’m mistreating myself and I assault my love leaving it ****** and bruised.
It’s funny how the world can constantly build me high,
But it only took you to send me crashing through the sky.
And when I fell and hit the ground,
The armor I built was shattered around.
Underneath it all I could finally see,
The only thing that remained intact was the original me.
I, myself, am my greatest force of nature.
And when I try to change who I am I’m in immediate danger.
The second I wear a mask to fool someone I love,
Is the second that my love is broken, recanted, torn up.
It’s not love if I’m not myself.
It’s not true if I pretend to be someone else.
I’m done being a victim in your insecure schemes,
But I’m also done pretending I walked away perfectly clean.
Yes I am hurt, and yes I wanted our love to be,
But I won’t sacrifice myself for you I’d rather let you go free,
Because somewhere, out there, there’s someone who wants me.
All my imperfections and everything you made me see as faults,
I consider beautiful, rare, a gift to make someone’s world halt.
I’m not sorry for the way I express myself.
I’m just sorry it has to be for someone else.
I love too much, but not too often.
My heart gets broken, but I, I keep going.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Doctor, tell me, what's good or bad for me
give me guiding tips, health's recipe
what I should eat, and foods to be shunned
I find my years wasted, with most things unlearned!
Doctor, please tell me, do I eat more or less
show me the way, to a healthy happiness
chart for me, the most balanced diet
I find my years wasted, and little learned yet!
Doctor, tell me the secret, of staying healthy in strife
to remain in glowing health, for a rewarding marital life
prescribe me one potent pill, to make my groin burn
I find my potence wasted, with still many things to learn!
Doctor, now I seek your advice, in the matter of heart
tell me, how I keep it broad, before I depart
tell me if it's a broader heart, that's more easily burned
I find my years all wasted, with so many things unlearned!
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
And no matter how we feel
The world will keep on turning
Some will fill their lives with love
While others fill with yearning
We can choose to live uncertain lives
too scared to take a chance
Or be bold and find our happiness
the music to our dance
No matter how safe we play the game
at some point we all get burned
But the only time it’s a mistake
is when the lesson goes unlearned
So some will end up broken
shattered, cast aside
But the ending you will face
is one thing you alone decide
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
under the core of time, there's the beach of dreams
bathed by the water of wishes, attachments and fear
nothing can you bring to this place, it's all there
guarded by ancient creatures, made of clay and stone
everything a being knows will be forgotten there
all abilities and skills will be unlearned for good
misunderstandings will be solved, time stops ticking
the word "why" loses its function under the core of time
pearls of rain fall on the ground to stroke people
to redeem them from the arrogance of living on earth
and a mist of gold and light belts the sleeping ones
under the core of time, space becomes infinite and clear
a kingdom, where love shall be king and law, peaceful
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 10:49 AM UTC
first, make sure you are very concerned with
unlearned or silenced or misread minorities. this establishes that you
are a rarity, a person of charity,
a champion and deity of the small and the voiceless.
you’ve made the right choices
swallowed the right poisons
so now you’re not pointless,
you’re with the top few
of the economic disparity.
do you aver verity?
not so much.
you just make the choicest noises.
second, it is very important that you stud your vernacular
with words like deictic, post-spaciality, and sub-simulacular.
when you, font of knowledge, squeeze out pearls like turds
in twelve-point, double spaced, times new roman rows,
lined up like crows or some other ***** birds,
be sure to write no sentence shorter than thirty words, and
see to it that two thirds of these words have more than ten letters
that even the nerds in their plaid-patterned sweaters have not once ever heard.
when you walk, A paper in hand, from your car to your apartment, past four vagrants, do not look at them.
do not look into the eyes of the man standing in the rain, barefoot, black, green, and yellow toenails oozing and crusting, nodding his head and shouting at no one, and do not wonder whether or not he’d be there had he been educated.
lexicon is not eloquence.
erudition is not wisdom.
intelligence is not a prerequisite for rights.
you have no rights.
take a dictionary and shove it up your *** and
while you’re at it, shove one up mine, too.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
You've been on my mind,
Since a very long time.
You've got no clue,
How much I'd loved you.
But then, last night
When I saw you;
I saw you with
Someone new.
You were with her,
Almost all the time.
Oh, I thought
I would lose my mind.
I saw her leanin' on you;
As if you were h e r boo.
And slowly as you kissed her,
I unlearned your name;
And now it's all a blur.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
the women on my father's side of the family are quiet
they are traditionalists, rooted in the ways of the women who came before them
i have watched them shrink before the voices of men
wilting like flowers do when the nights are longer than expected
it is not their fault
they have not been taught any differently
the women on my father's side of the family are small
delicate bones and feet made for tip toeing around hushed rooms
voices made for apologizing for things that they can not control
their lineage traces its way back through generations
they have shaky hands, yet have mastered the art of threading needles
i watch them, and something tugs at my heart, but i do not know why
i fear it is pity
the women on my mother's side of the family are loud
they have laughs that carry like the notes of a symphony
bold and unapologetic, sure footed in its own presence
they are the center of attention
at times the center of gravity as well
the women on my mother's side of the family are tall
they take up space and are not ashamed of it
sometimes it is called brashness
i always saw it as courage
they taught me how to sleep in on sundays and how to walk like i am
not afraid and how to hold my keys in between my fingers like daggers
i watch them, and something tugs at my heart, but i do not know why
i fear it is because i do not know if i will ever be able to be like them
you see, i am equal parts one as i am the other
as much as i would like to be brazen and unafraid
i cannot forget the reflexes inherited
these things cannot be unlearned
they have been ingrained into hollow bones
however, if this is true, it must also be true that somewhere beneath this lies the kind of fearlessness that dances on tables and is not afraid of who watches
i have seen this courage in my mother, and her mother, and the women before them
one day i will steady these shaky hands and find that courage
until then i tip toe around hushed rooms and apologize for things that i cannot control
i am equal parts one as i am the other
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
To love me is to put up with a messiness I inherited from my mother.
The displays of self loathing and self sabotage i work on daily.
The clothes I leave on the floor.
The coffee cups in the sink.
The bed unmade and the too many shoes.
To love me is to deal with an annoying amount of independence I inherited from my father.
The acts of self serving that I work on daily.
The know it all moments when I’m working on something or fixing something.
The confidence in my work ethic, my persona & who I am.
The laughter I have over everything.
To love me is to know the loyalty and respect I’ve inherited from my stepmom.
The empathy I still long for and work to find daily.
The care over details.
The nurture I give when you’re sad or sick.
The standing up for you but also putting you in your place.
To love me is to cope with the stoic coldness and wandering spirit I’ve inherited from my grandma.
The parts of me you’ll never fully know that I work to show you daily.
The look of dismay I sometimes don’t know is on my face.
The inability to stay in one place for too long without going insane.
The moments I want to run away and never look back.
To love me is to cope.
Cope with knowing sometimes I’m mean.
Sometimes I’m sad.
And sometimes I love fiercely and passionately.
To love me is to love all of me.
Everything I’ve inherited and everything I’ve learned and unlearned over time.
To love me is to be loved in return.
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 10:02 AM UTC
From a pulsating heart…ecstasy encloses gentle utterances…
Causing your body to collapse inside with butterflies
Desiring a soft sensation of love without pain…
Something gentle evolves…unlearned…a yearning.
The birth of innocent emotions comes anew, and…
With a whispering acapella sounding in the distance,
Charity is melodically voiced proudly…
Aloud…unconditional.
© 2003
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
I wanted to find something to bring back to life.
Lately, these stanzas have been on repeat.
My words: resurrected.
Stories engrave themselves in my synapses
A memory forms and then collapses
A Heart skips beats and then relaxes
Powerhouse of nerves in through the spine
Messages from hands moving to the mind
No rush, steady-paced climb
Following the crooked lines
Pulled apart, then pushed together
Overloaded with the
Doing and undoing tether
Smiles slowly building the road to better
Best medicine is the sound of laughter
The world spins, and spins faster
Without even a second thought
Of what happens after
Los secretos, el momento,
Las caras que vemos
Pero aqui, en sonrisas,
Aqui nos quedemos
En los ojos siempre,
Facil nos perdemos
Cada maravilla es diferente que vemos
Es que las cosas no son tan complicadas
La vida esta llena de cosas delicadas
Pero es una lucha, ya sabes eso
Toma un corazon fuerte en el pecho
Exposure, exposure, to the other moving closer
Admiration reaching and pulling voices over
Of passion, and into the seas of liberation
Speaking a language with no available translation
Rules broken, laws and regulations
Systematic arrangements of our kings and queens
In different moments, places,
Different things
But the beauty is more than the perfection
Or imperfection in the seams
Lining the different parts of la vita bella
Every part of the whole of what we fiend
Filling the empty spaces sitting vacant in between
From past, told and untold dreams
The path in life winds and turns
Full of chances and opportunities to get burned
Full of the learned and unlearned
Growing pensive,
Minds fill with the incentive
To rise above,
Intentionally connected
v.xxx.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
Coffee stains on the newspaper because I was always so messy
Illuminating the stories that hit close to home, drawing emotions I had no interest in possessing
Lipstick smears on the cheek of a young man because I was always so quick to trust
Allowing him access to the depths of my soul surrounding my heart and mind
Stinging scrapes up my legs because I was always so clumsy
Falling off of my bike countless times, though I should've learned the first time that the turn was too dangerous to master
Paper cuts scattered about my hand because I always turned the pages too quickly
With full awareness that I'd hurt myself because of the sharp edges, but I couldn't wait to keep reading because I was infatuated with the books and how the stories would end
Bleeding lips because I always bit on them when I was anxious
Despite the pain and unappealing appearance, my nerves took control so I never learned to kick the dreadful habit
And seventeen years of my life
Seventeen years of mistakes
Seventeen years of trouble
And I still haven't learned my lessons because I'll continue to be careless about my shaky hands holding my coffee in the morning
And I'll still fall for boys who say all of the right things
And I'll keep riding my bike around the sharp curve because I am not afraid of it
And I'll keep turning the pages too quickly because the story is worth the paper cuts
And I'll keep biting my lip when I'm nervous because it's all I know when everything is overwhelming me
And I'll keep making mistake after mistake
Because all of these things have become routine to me
And I would not know myself
If I was more cautious
So seventeen years of lessons unlearned leave me fighting to the very end
Crashing over every bump on the road
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
It's official: age is no longer a restriction.
I have the anguish and the whole world in front of me.
I used to look outside my windows with admiration,
but now that I have to leave the house I flinch.
Free birds fly for survival,
but for me flying is a choice
and now my mind alternates between
willing to leave and willing to stay.
Sometimes I blaspheme against my dreams
and I regret having unlearned to be satisfied with a little
but the truth is that
Napoleon is a demon that lives inside me
and always wants more and
I can't achieve the world if I just
behold it through the windows of my room.
I must leave.
Free birds fly for survival and I envy them
because for them there is no other option.
Because their minds probably don't alternate between
fear of the unknown and a desire to fly away.
Because their minds probably don't alternate between
frustration and ambition.
Because their minds probably don't alternate between
comparing their own way of flying with others and
wanting to make another bird's way of flying their own,
even though it's wrong
because every bird flies the way it needs to fly
and the comparison is unnecessary.
Because their minds probably don't alternate between
the cry of giving up and anything else.
They are birds and only this they can be.
But what I am I need to find out.
How should I know what I'll be,
I who don't know what I am?
Indeed, we are condemned to be free.
It's official: age is no longer a restriction.
I have the anguish and the whole world in front of me.
It's time to leave the house.
It's time to fly away.
It's time to go.
Goodbye childhood,
goodbye adolescence.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
A friend once told me that all of his inspiration was lost, it was a half past 2.
I wondered how much of himself it would cost to wander a bit, and try something new.
Maybe this is out of the blue, but perhaps we can find inspiration in all of its absence, too.
Inspiration is in me and it's in you.
It's where you sit right now, just enjoying the view.
It's the smiles that graze by you, if only a few.
It's the change in the space that could never be replaced.
A positive embrace that becomes written all over my face.
I told him, "sometimes, we must change our questions and readjust our eyes. And by surprise, the sunset becomes the sunrise."
The difference between a decline and an incline.
The distance between looking forward and falling behind.
Inspiration that is in front of us -
The heart invested trust that sends us a rush that is never undone.
The cold-hearted lust that turns to love under the sun.
Your words are not lost, they have only just begun.
To wander is to observe.
We find inspiration between the fine lines of all the words that we've heard.
I told him that I think we deserve to imagine our world...
To become what you desire to serve.
To see all the lessons learned and unlearned, in the midst of your hurt.
My last words curved, without a slur -
"Stay grounded. There is always inspiration implanted in the dirt."
- L.G.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
I am not perfect.
I am nowhere near perfect.
I simply play the part,
But only for you.
I try to be the best.
I aim for perfection.
But like Cupid,
My marksmanship is poor.
I will always fail,
I will always be,
This same imperfect entity,
All that is yours.
If imperfection,
Is perfect to you,
Than I shall put down my bow,
And aim no more.
I am not a masterpiece,
I am a forgery,
Created by the perfect artist.
You.
I apologize for my texture,
The flaws that give me away.
For to an expert,
I am nothing but a replica.
To an unlearned eye,
I may be something,
Born of the renaissance,
Yet I am nothing special.
I was born of this age.
An age where an artist's ideals,
Are formed from past works.
And I am nothing but a forgery.
Not a forgery of Da Vinci or Michelangelo,
But a forgery of these new age artists.
Only a forgery of an idea's idea.
Nothing more.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 5:02 AM UTC
You only wear dark clothes when you're sad
now you're wearing black
My hands are the coldest you’ll ever hold
I think my heart is too
I’ll never be big
or small enough to fit in your arms
I always kiss
the wrong person goodnight
Now ask me how many times you kissed me
then how many times I actually felt something
Maybe we are just a lesson that
has gone unlearned
Or maybe I just don't know how to end this.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
In a hospital with glass walls they can't hide their problems
as the newborn screams and the cancer depletes
the cycle of life is witnessed like a dream
vivid in this reality the harshness of their insanity,
purely demographically calculating each catastrophe
Anxiety and depression, broken bones and unlearned lessons,
overflowing pediatric wings and incomprehensible fallacies
how many angels have to fall before they finally change something?
the way it is just isn't working
genetically modifying the health and well being of humanity
is devil-like control that we've given out freely
each one of us is just as guilty
of giving in without even thinking
they've designed it not only to be easy,
but required, legally
prepared for the community
to not take it so peacefully
"You can't make me" becomes a felony
and a ticket can be written for anything
don't get caught with your hands in your pockets day dreaming...
you silly dreamer human being
theres laws against speaking free, although the constitution disagrees
the law wasn't given it's own set of wings
and jealous was he so he created a scene
and made it seem like a city was their dream
when it never really came close to being
handing out medications and monthly vaccines
instead of homegrown natural remedies
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
*"I miss you so much."
"Run away with me."
"You're my girl 3/23/14."
"Ali was here."
"Big kiss!"*
Hidden notes.
The pleasure of finding new pieces of you.
Wanting, yet not wanting to search
Because meeting the last one
Seems like it might mean
There is nothing left to discover.
You are here but you are gone.
You were my safety, but now
You are my cell phone.
You are my computer.
You are a lived-in T and sweater
Which I suffocate myself with
In order to feign sleep without your touch.
You are a used facecloth
And an unwashed pillowcase.
You are the crumbs in my carpet.
You are the strands of hair that cling to my scarf and brush
That did not come from the scalp I wear.
You are the blooming lilies left behind.
You are a faint aroma in the air
And
You are the steady thump of a heartbeat against an ear
Deeply rooted in my memory.
All these I know.
But the one blue sticky note that still evades me…
It is mystery.
It is you, unlearned.
It is my motivation.
It is my vice.
It is the sweet symphony
That keeps me afloat in the dark water.
Ocean waves.
Blue squares.
Where?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
I wanted to find something to bring back to life.
Lately, these stanzas have been on repeat.
My words: resurrected.
Stories engrave themselves in my synapses
A memory forms and then collapses
A Heart skips beats and then relaxes
Powerhouse of nerves in through the spine
Messages from hands moving to the mind
No rush, steady-paced climb
Following the crooked lines
Pulled apart, then pushed together
Overloaded with the
Doing and undoing tether
Smiles slowly building the road to better
Best medicine is the sound of laughter
The world spins, and spins faster
Without even a second thought
Of what happens after
Los secretos, el momento,
Las caras que vemos
Pero aqui, en sonrisas,
Aqui nos quedemos
En los ojos siempre,
Facil nos perdemos
Cada maravilla es diferente que vemos
Es que las cosas no son tan complicadas
La vida esta llena de cosas delicadas
Pero es una lucha, ya sabes eso
Toma un corazon fuerte en el pecho
Exposure, exposure, to the other moving closer
Admiration reaching and pulling voices over
Of passion, and into the seas of liberation
Speaking a language with no available translation
Rules broken, laws and regulations
Systematic arrangements of our kings and queens
In different moments, places,
Different things
But the beauty is more than the perfection
Or imperfection in the seams
Lining the different parts of la vita bella
Every part of the whole of what we fiend
Filling the empty spaces sitting vacant in between
From past, told and untold dreams
The path in life winds and turns
Full of chances and opportunities to get burned
Full of the learned and unlearned
Growing pensive,
Minds fill with the incentive
To rise above,
Intentionally connected
v.xxx.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC