Sonnet 001
While we walk home along this lonely beach,
Ships passing in the night run aground.
The lukewarm sand your feet can hardly reach.
To watch your sorry figure I look 'round.
Though we have taken thousands of steps each
Only few of my footprints I have found
While looking backwards over shoulders... Screech!
Screech out in pain, let out your first clear sound!
I wish that you expressed your thoughts by speech.
When your lips move my echoes do abound.
To me you keep on sticking like a leech.
Would you drift with my body if I drowned?
When the night comes near I will feel alone.
That you might appear I wish that you shone.
(Author: EDEN SANTOS OLIVEIRA. Written over 20 years ago)
Ships passing in the night run aground.
The lukewarm sand your feet can hardly reach.
To watch your sorry figure I look 'round.
Though we have taken thousands of steps each
Only few of my footprints I have found
While looking backwards over shoulders... Screech!
Screech out in pain, let out your first clear sound!
I wish that you expressed your thoughts by speech.
When your lips move my echoes do abound.
To me you keep on sticking like a leech.
Would you drift with my body if I drowned?
When the night comes near I will feel alone.
That you might appear I wish that you shone.
(Author: EDEN SANTOS OLIVEIRA. Written over 20 years ago)
Comentários (0)
Iniciar sessão
para publicar um comentário.
Ainda não há comentários. Sê o primeiro a comentar.
Outros poemas de participantes
Missy my love
Missy my love You are the sunshine I am happy that we love Each other Missy you give me Lots of kisses Sweater than honey Also dad You pl…
Aldo gabbay kraas
O Orvalho.
O Orvalho que nesta madrugada caem sobre esta terra ... é para renovar a reprodução de todas as sementes - de todas as espécies que irã…
Ademir D.Zanotelli *Poeta*
Palma zunkha
Deixa que o amor e o impulso
falem mais alto, ou melhor,
cantem por nós o que tiver
de ser cantado sem se preocupar
com o q…
Anna Flávia Schmitt Wyse Baranski
Sapucaia
É inverno, estamos em julho,
sem flor e nenhum fruto.
Enquanto a querida sapucaia
repousa tranquila na praça,
O charme da mi…
Anna Flávia Schmitt Wyse Baranski