SMILE CONVERTED IN BRONZE
May the smile on your lips not become bronze.
Because it can be lost in waste.
Let the bitterness become joy.
Because of it lies life.
That the dreams are fulfilled in goals.
Because if they do not get tangled up in the storm.
That remain in fantasies, and the distance is not cold.
That arrogance, goes with the invention being. What did the oracle bring?
That the purpose of this life. Do not be more than fill it with joy.
That the feeling does not feel next to you in the day to day.
But let it come out of you both in the night, as in the day.
May your kisses hang from waste.
Because if it is not like that, honey becomes reproaches.
May the passion remain inside.
So you do not see yourself hanging like an airplane in the wind.
That the disease is not simply used as a pretext.
But that it is accompanied, of something certain, that leads to the uncertain.
That life does not become monotony.
Because you can lose sincerity in time, and the way.
That the utopia, be bearable, so that it is not, unaware.
When you open your eyes, it will be quite late.
When the mortal speaks, it is pure lie.
And the real is what the family says.
That the imbecile came to silence in this life.
And do not beg for more love because disgust gives you and you throw up.
Author Ivan Rattia
Poet Loko.
Rights Reserved @Venezuela.
