Murilo Porfírio

b. 1995

n. 1995-07-28, Minas Gerais

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II-XIII In a Basement With Bertha Mason

Countless times, oh, countless days,

here I stand, in sorrow's haze.

How many times has this pain led me here,

to pen my thoughts, so raw and clear?

Nearly all my works, both old and new,

are salted with tears for love of you.

You remain the love of my life,

the one I cherish, in joy and strife.

And though my heart will never cease to love you so,

without release, I fear the day might come to pass,

when love’s flame fades, alas, alas.

To me, it feels a lack of care,

though we live apart, we share

a distance deep within our minds.

I feel a fool for being kind,

but when you’re near, my heart finds peace,

and life with you feels sweet release.

But what curse is this that makes me care?

In a world of sorrow, where

some live in bliss, while others cry,

injustice reigns, and truth’s a lie.

How foolish am I to crave romance,

when my life’s full of privilege and chance.

Thank you, God, for all I own,

may I grow wise, and do not cast a stone.

Grateful for the blessings sent,

I will not hope for a love that’s meant.

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Poems

All 2024

abr. (4) mai. (6) jun. (3)

II-IV In a Basement With Bertha Mason

All the journals of science, priced beyond my breath,

are stored where fortunes tower, perhaps in Hong Kong’s wealth.

Opaque the process seems, yet cycles clear abide,

to publish and take pride, a never-ending tide.

Ask about their travels, how many have there been?

Living broad and wide, in randomness unseen.

For their victories are listed in public view, you see:

work and places, faces—demands to set aside my glee.

Yet this is science now, not as it was, or will be hence,

I pray recalling minds of genius, cloaked in magic’s dense.

They soared beyond the mundane, where fame and mystique blend,

in realms where wonder reigns, and mysteries never end.

1,352

II-III In a Basement With Bertha Mason

Villain Gray is love, a memory steeped in pain,

a ghost from my past, again and again.

On that fateful day, I was deeply hurt,

troubled by issues, feelings overt.

Yet somehow it happens, things go astray,

they vanish like shadows, without delay.

Now, writing of love, a tender theme,

I find myself lost, in a recurring dream.

In moments of joy, still, a shadow takes hold,

a course through my soul, both brash and bold.

Safety eludes me, though I strive to find peace,

in the house of my mind, where struggles cease.

God grants me courage, through the dark to pave,

a path of bravery, my heart to save.

1,407

II-I In a Basement With Bertha Mason

In the shadow of a silent sin, a sense of discord grows within.

Long lost in a tale of old, in silence, my thoughts unfold.

Dreams are shaped by hands not mine, destined for him or the divine.

Evening prayers, a hope for peace, yet bring visions that never cease:

A world designed for you and me, yet from it, my soul yearns to be free.

I learned that kindness is my role, dreaming for others, a part of my soul.

Battles within, a constant fight, fade as I face my inner plight.

A common curse we all bear, my dreams shrouded in a common despair.

Life and death, themes I’d rather not ponder, seeking answers that within me wander.

1,376

II-II In a Basement With Bertha Mason

Our minds are open books to read, the Lord twists time with divine heed.

My pen has inked no joyful tune, merely shades of sorrow, under a waning moon.

Yet prayers ascend for our shared fate, while my own hours dissipate in the wait.

Gratitude swells for the breath, the fight, for moments shared in your sacred light.

Ghosts may haunt, searing thoughts within, scars may mark the battles we’re yet to win.

But life, it stretches beyond my silent pleas, vaster than visions the praying eye sees.

Each day it bears us on a tide so vast, in this grand design, I find peace at last.

1,365

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