Writer, author, short story writer, poet, youtuber, blogger.
The planets groupued...
They persecute science.
The stars align
are dressed in patience
Souls in gestation float...
Their spirits do not bounce.
They stand static, waiting
the expected notes.
Intelligence tinkles and rotates...
Asteroids levitate and fall
about altruistic thoughts.
They exalt themselves and ingest their radiations,
of positive trajectories and passions.
Existence waits and is always maintained,
in the shape of a snail.
Human essences enter, and evolve
in the consciousness of the sun.
In the coming and going of eternal events,
stories repeat, and repeat, and repeat...
Laconically, the suns and the stars fall in
the space of life.
Faith in our heavenly father.
He was trying to hog inspiration,
but he did not have a pen in hand.
Neither does the computer.
then the muse faded into oblivion.
She did everything to rescue the essence of him,
But I did not make it.
By squandering its aroma of intergalactic fruits,
the effect of her spread in my mind.
And poisoned negative emotions,
turning the present visual into crystals
of light and positivism, which flaunted their rich effervescence
I threw far from me, the abysses,
and I clung to the Christian faith:
I trust that everything always
will go better, thanks to the blessed
influence and protection
of our heavenly father.
Paranormal flowers are born of the night,
They emerge with colors from the darkness.
They are jubilant souls who stroll in peace,
they float with their tones of happiness.
They return to earth for a few seconds,
they return to heaven, their true world.
Souls of colors, happy to be free,
and live forever in the big city.
They visit our environment and reach us,
we feel its vibrations of eternity.
Memories come to us in dreams,
we interact with them.
They are living souls that float, visit, leave and return
in full freedom of thought.
Souls of colors that God scatters
in his eternal surroundings.
Souls of the living, ghostly souls
The neighborhood is dark.
In the mantle of the night the old houses sleep,
and the beings that inhabit it; the living and the ghosts.
The living sleep, and their souls escape momentarily,
inside and outside their homes,
together with stars and suns of past,
in alternate worlds in black and white and in color.
Ghosts do not sleep, they levitate and accompany many times,
to the souls of the living in their dreams.
They communicate messages, converse pleasantly,
as if they still lived and shared
same as in the past.
Other unknown ghosts,
They stop before the sleepers and share thoughts,
some happy, some not.
They want to go beyond reality,
but only the sleeping soul can allow it.
And until that moment, their communication arrives,
they can't enter into dreams of the living,
for not being relatives or acquaintances,
they can only do it one time.
Meanwhile the familiar ghosts,
if they can enter the dreams of their relatives,
only if they allow it.
And a pleasant communication can arise
forever as long as they remain
both the living soul and the ghostly soul.
The mystery and its shadows,
they let their coldness run.
And the living enjoy paranormal events.
Wrapped in darkness and placid rests,
they sleep at night
escaping from the body in the company of their beloved souls.
Poetic meeting of souls
Its faint green footsteps pigeonhole their hopes,
and tangled joys of nature and skies.
A garment made of ripe and unripe fruits,
expected to be released on the lunar surface.
It is a being that hoists each thought with distinctive flags,
It is a feeling that floats perennial and radiant
in each expectant body.
The stars effervece in the night sky,
and its thunderous sound dents every beat of verse.
A hundred spirits of poets watch me,
their smiles and their looks guide me
towards the agreed direction;
A planet hidden from all terrestrial consciousness,
where only poets meet after death.
And although I am alive, I can see and observe them,
feel and think.
Their telepathic voices converse with the muse...
© 2022 Venus Mary