Words have no owner
But the sentences need the reader.
When one has no value,
he's just a narrator.
And when one is deaf,
only then can he be a translator
And when one is an animal,
need to hear the growl,
the squawk, the roar.
Or any kind onomatopoeia.
In the act,
neither his pen nor his writings,
They seek to be eternal.
But some verses
These are cursed or complacent for eternity.
It doesn't matter naivety or genius.
Innocence or premeditated reaction.
Write one as if that was his first letter...
And over the years,
And with the failures,
And with the victories,
Write one, empty lines, hoping that memories draw spellings with meaning, or at least with feeling, to cover the gaps.
Not all writers
Not all writings are read.
Not all lovers leave a mark
But if they write in the obituary of their bedroom.
No poetry has an owner,
only apostles,
witnesses of love stories,
death counters.
There is no more beautiful poem
that he could never write himself,
nor a more beautiful song that could be heard.
And it is that the caresses do not sound,
the sighs of love are silent,
Joy is only appreciated in the face of the evidence of loneliness.