Murilo Porfírio

n. 1995

n. 1995-07-28, Minas Gerais

12 365 Visualizações

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.

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II-V In a Basement With Bertha Mason

I’ve seen too much, weary from the view,

but still I crave the life I wish to pursue.

Daily the same, convincing myself anew,

brighter moments await with you.

A brilliant man dying under bitter lights,

one day my passion rare as twilight fights.

For each day wanes and memory ignites

of times unsure, with passions and plights.

What’s real escapes me, lost in your trace,

triumphant times I can no longer embrace.

Am I so fragile? Some days just erase

by whims of neglect, in sorrow’s space.

The truth—I love you, feelings sometimes shown,

from you they come, and then they’re flown.

Lost in yeses, sunk in no’s alone,

hating myself for feelings overblown.

Cursed I feel, by life’s relentless tone.

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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.

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.

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.

II-I In a Basement With Bertha Mason

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