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Poemas : 

Strings

 
hands tied up,

like branches of a tree,

born to attached,

yearning to be free.


Sitting on a rock,

I watch the hit and run of the waves,

Wondering if to stay or to go,

If any destiny saves.


To be saved,

wishes every reality son,

Searching among the fading goodness ,

some cruelty left undone.


And with hands tied up,

I search the darkness,

To find the corners of sanity,

leading me to the exits of madness.


But what sanity is this,

Where happiness means strings,

forcing us to belong to another,

cutting our wings.


No sanity belongs to this world,

When all its meaning are shuffled,

And our souls, knurled,

beg not to be troubled.


And in the glance of childhood,

we question,

if any soul told us about this big tree,

-No, none!

Lau'Ra
 
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Lau'Ra
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