Mediu
Poetry is the punch in the keys and
must be felt by the hearth and slashed by the brain
Is the leaf that falls from the tree
but never reaches the ground
Poetry means war in a smear drawn by peace and
part from that tiny piece of dust, lost in the desert of words
You don\'t need to break your hands to feel those words
and you don\'t need to scream to taste them
Poetry is part of the echoes of inner lost,
of founding new, though old, repeating ideas
Must come and fade away as the wind flows,
as the seconds transform themselves into gnomes...
Beyond, there\'s a kind of sweet perfect disorder -
is like the dance that you\'d never want to stop
Poetry is the drug that makes us dependent and
which flows through the veins ... filled with smoke!
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