POETS
We are, in fact, dreamers,
And if it is the imaginary
Sometimes even more joyful or sad,
Charting the keyboard laughter, pain.
We created several gardens without flowers
In the struggle which has resisted,
The verse as a weapon in hand and at peace,
Delusions colorful prismatic
We wandered infinite within us,
In insane soliloquy, firm voice,
Generating parallel universes.
Living a more ideal or dreaming,
In a world often more aggressive
Using the fragile hope in verses.
MARCOS LOURES
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