To whom it may concern

As long without talk and this still seems like heaven ...
Only regálame a smile, is the best present for anyone who walks away.
Regálame only a few words, it will be for my poetry than ever repair to ask does this is your voice coming out of those red lips? Does this is the way you look strange when I wanted to spend time with you?
Regálame just lost your happiness and I will share what's left of my soul and mine.

To whom it may concern.

Written by kmilo Published in: Poetry No Comments » 19 April 2008

Vote:

Sonnet for a small flower

Many times scares me of the things that are not
I am not aware when it withers a sunflower,
if you're there,
yellow and clear,
so radiant with that sad and pale yellow to almost be confused with a memory,
a fleeting image of what is delivered if habitually their light ...
and I do not see it,
I can not,
sometimes I stay blind.

I just hope that the sun rises tomorrow if you do not see starting as one single flower that dies when you start to root,
I'm sorry,
is not that desagradezca,
is that sometimes I'm so clumsy that I do not know thank your presence ...
you never feel like you imagine ...
for me and for all.
It is so difficult knowing that failure was attempted at least once more than what was expected ...
I know, it is not usual but understand something, really sorry.

If you feel small flower ...
Dawns yet and already you regularly by both the sun ...
yes ...
do not know what small flower,
but I remove all weeds
and do you know?
I became an herbal tea with the bad to find out who the hell knows ...

Yes, it is small flower,
maybe this will be the evening that my hands a little withered your sweet color ...
it hurts me deep in small flower,
just hope that my eyes are not Cloudy with drops which have a bitter taste;
salt to taste,
because small flower for you is that I would ask
so that my bare hands not tear apart the smile that draw on ground floor whenever it without looking.

Yes small flower, I am a fool,
I'm naive,
I am a poor dreamer frustrated
who can not bear to close my eyes with crystal droplets inside,

I am a man and I'm afraid,
I'm older and that until the flower looks bigger drop their petals

Yes small flower,
I'm afraid, very afraid ...
is the time to feel it,
soon collected your harvest
and me, I will be so foolish as always remember
what I always wanted to be next to the most beautiful flower in March that would have to give.

Written by kmilo Published in: Poetry Comments Off 17 April 2008

Vote:

Hand

It is increasingly difficult to wake up hoping that my mind remains of lucida than before.

It is increasingly difficult to see the colors that are behind the eyelids when the light is scarce in sight.

It is increasingly easy to start from scratch still seeing the dreams of escaping a bit.

No matter, it should be this light of the moon which makes everything even in the night is blue.

No matter where we stand at the end near the end of the river waiting to eat a freshwater shrimp; hunger everything can, to what animal, brutal and desperate.

Lléname eyes with everything you have,
and never will be a reflection,
will always be something new,
a hope, a salvation in the middle of nowhere,
a sleepy smile at the pillow,
trasmutación a sense that I delivered the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, the warmth of feeling like a child at the age I have.

I shall, however, that that's what I want for me,
that's easier to live what lies ahead,
Your world, my world,
the antithesis of anything.

Written by kmilo Published in: Poetry No Comments » 14 April 2008

Vote: