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The Routines of Life Are Not Eternal

Writer, author, short story writer, poet, youtuber, blogger.

the-routines-of-life-are-not-eternal

Everything changes in life and in the afterlife

This time too shall pass
what we live right now,
will dissipate in the memories of the planet.
Just like the people of the past,
who indifferently saw life,
thinking that the routines would be eternal.

Now they are somewhere
their spirits are still alive,
in some dimension or level.

Or maybe they already reincarnated
and they are again
with another life,
Other interests,
other dreams to come.

My parents used to live with me,
with their roles as father and mother.
I being his daughter,
the baby, the girl, the teenager.
The vision of interest was colorful,
for my new life.
And the memories of my former life,
they were intact, but I was silent.

"Start School Again"
I thought when I was in first grade
- What a laziness! exclaimed my thoughts,
while I saw in my mind a huge ladder that I had to climb
again.

the-routines-of-life-are-not-eternal

litmus

It goes, it goes
The memory is gone, between smoke and sun.
it goes and it comes, and then it goes,
in slopes of iridescent rainbows.
Lies, lives, and lies,
wisps of shadows and times.

Non-existent hours, fictitious days, years in vain.
Fiction of lives...
Born in sensations.
Grow between emotions of innocents
lights.

Laugh at night,
to jump on the rainy day,
under the jets
who decline their fall,
in dazzling intensities.

the-routines-of-life-are-not-eternal

The oblivion of time

The delightful weather and the swift gallop of the hours.
The chirp of the minutes, and the sigh of the seconds;
dizzying race of dreams.
Time smiles as it slips between the years.
How much do your gemstones weigh?
How much their stages cry!

Childhood is sweetened with the sweetness of kisses,
and the candor of a smile.
Adolescence is confused;
Looking at the translucent source of desires.
There are so many requests daubed with tinsel!
And questions to discover;
behind the conquests of experiences.

Time crosses the barrier of distinguished life.
They transcend dimensions and never forget.
Romance watches us and with its lunatic influence;
it pint us with love, jealousy, and hate;
of illusion of joy and of all the passions;
that perfume the human being;
with the temp clock weather.

The night and her presumption in the breath of time;
They await with joy the dawn of the flickering stars.
that conform to the ages of souls,
on metaphorical impulsiveness;
riding in eternal youth.

The slow and at the same time fast walk of time continues;
desires slip away between the pain of the sea,
and the pleasure of the sun. They hallucinate the facts around.
A burst of reality allows a glimpse of subjectivity,
that hastily hides in the mist,
writing verses and doodles of love…

Joys are reborn; reasons resurface,
about the synchronous staggering in the joy of the hours;
that gradually, they shudder along with the letters…
Forever; in the oblivion of time.

the-routines-of-life-are-not-eternal

A feminine spirit

And the breeze caresses,
and silence utters telepathic words,
Of the yesterday, present and future.
Grounded phrases, vain phrases,
poetic phrases and beloved phrases...

I am a spirit covered with feminine corporeal consistency,
with thoughts of meditation and wisdom.
I like to see the luminescence of the day,
perceive the sun and its burning rays of optimism.
It is the preference of almost all my previous lifes.

the-routines-of-life-are-not-eternal

A hike in dreams

A walk in dreams,
in a barren desert
leading to a boiling sea.
A sea of stormy verses
that is shown in that picture,
that hangs on the wall of time.

a broken dream,
that yesterday I sewed with the thread of my free hours,
with the needle of words...
I also tasted a slice of nostalgia,
drenched in adolescence
And I drank a glass of magical sighs,
with a rich cookie impregnated
of lights of discoteque.

I vehemently embraced several tardies that floated

in the atmosphere of my free hours...
And I observed for a few seconds the extreme poverty of my fellow men.
Located by intervals of poetry,
standing in the courtyard of my school,
I held onto a melody with my hands.
I hit her so hard that I messed up her essence.
Some diamond tears
and loose crystals rained from my gaze...

© 2022 Venus Mary

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