Half Open is Closed (Trunks of old and dark Spirits IV)

In a garden of wonder 

I walked on a boring day,

All dressed up in the openness 

of wanting to play.

I entered the garden gate 

and near an oak tree,

a wooden door was half open 

to my curiosity.

I was craving adventures, 

so what was I to do?

I took a sneak-peak 

and then I heard you:

“You cannot come in, 

because the entry is stuck.”

- You said from behind 

of your own bad luck.

 

Since you didn’t want me in, 

I was ready to go.

But each time I was going 

you called me, pronto.

You didn’t want to leave either, 

which was bizarre.

Thus I stayed, indecisive, 

not straying too far,

intrigued by the mystery

of what was inside,

of the voice that would speak 

and go into hide.

Suddenly I freed my fantasy, 

'cause it could get in,

flying through the door, 

exploring by imagining.

 

It then circled around, 

saw truth and came out,

telling me that the door 

was only shut by doubt.

There was nothing else more, 

no line of poetry,

just a man blocking the door 

and then calling in.

The reasons he holds dear,

I’m not going to pry,

But I pick up my struff 

and just tell this goodbye.

I feel curiosity rushing, 

there's plenty more to see

along this fully open space 

that is all around me.

Curiosidade

Curioso...

Li que os blogues estão fora de moda e que já não vale a pena ter um... Subitamente fiquei com mais vontade de manter este e de lhe dar novo ânimo.

Não sei se é gosto arqueológico ou só a mania de ser do contra mas isso também não interessa muito 😜

Pensamento único

Encarcerados por vontade própria

numa idade democrática, de medo.

Cumpridores por imposição, da culpa.

Reduzidos ao pensamento único,

que sem contraditório é contradição.

 

"Cada um se recolha à cama que lhe deram"

e que a ajeite com paus e pedras

para expulsar o microcosmos com lixívia.

Há mármores, calhaus rolados e areia,

traves de carvalho, ramos e gravetos.

 

Só as emoções poderiam ser pessoais.

Podia ser tempo de reencontrar a pessoa

se não nos entupissem de complexos

como num foi gras de funil mediatizado

enquanto engordamos de totalitarismo.

 

 

04.02.2021

Reflexo

 

Reflexo na janela.

A fronte tensa.

- O que tem ela?

- Parece que pensa…

Dr. Frankenstein woke my heart (Trunks of old and dark Spirits III)

Deceased was my heart, many moons ago...

But now, again, it pumps blood at me.

Some Frankenstein hit its flesh,

an arrow crossed it from death.

Infatuation, electricity!

 

Deceased was it not, now I feel,

though it was buried and quiet within.

But from the Tomb it came back,

Monster drummer, cardiac,

awakening all of my skin.

 

Alive! - It screams now – Not alone!

Bruised and scarred, it looks scary.

Old emotions pumping pain,

no trained elasticity,

impossible to restrain.

 

The Frankenstein dude disappeared,

            unknowing of his own creation.

But the hearth keeps up its beat.

Science has no explanation.

What do I do with it?

 

Emotions running, fight and flight mode.

In the story the Monster then dies.

But I don’t wanna kill it anew.

It is awaken, it’s here to rise!

Just let me embrace you

...my hearth