My Poetical Portfolio

My soul was in a pencil.

The holy place is not empty.
And who is on him, say, remains,
When the soul goes into the pencil
with a soft graffiti in the picture.
The Dad?

The point came out of sin.

But the worm of doubts runs a holy place:
Is it not easier to sit on the place?
It’s not easier not to spray, instead of
The soul to confuse in the poems
With love and disappointment together,
The habit of revenge.
To get lost in letters and words?

Dreams, like a body, are transformed into dust.

And the holy place is only that and holy,
The soul which is wing,
Ready in Words Clouds
As if the earth was not crucified,
As if the whole world was in her hands.
Like a pen in a pen,
Certainly hidden...

Poetry #poetry #poetry