Questions Mark

We sell our souls throught poetry

trying to look

richer in feelings than others.

In the market of the booths with open souls

you can find, for example:

an attempt to define the word,

a wound opened by solitude,

two or three ecstasy plights due to love,

or a manifest that came to the wrong market...

What s interesting is that when you read an exhibit

you can t see the age

to the one who sells his soul.

Yesterday I found one that talked about death

and I thought that it must be someone very old.

I told myself that this someone is trying to play

using big words...

But if this soul really

felt The End and wanted to sell his death

in the poetry that I bought by reading?

                                          c.r.m. (Loisy)

Beautiful lie

Tell me that you don t know me

that you have never seen my monsters

that nestle behind my face,

and I will tell you that there is the perfect being

that never cries,

that does not know to swear,

that hasn t learnt to hate yet...

                                           c.r.m.(Loisy)

Ballad to a season

Wind of the North,

bring back winter and the song,

becose in my soul the guards have gone to sleep

and there is a lot of silence.

That strange song

and the big snowflakes from an early morning...

My brave bored gurads

started to talk about God

and the angels punished them with sleep.

Wind of the North,

bring back on this street

the people and the things from that lost winter!

My guards are dreaming of blue narcissus...

Wind of the North,

bring back the winter in which

I forgot to love.

                                                  c.r.m (Loisy)

Lessons about blue

Dead blue flowers in the window

especially left there after the leave,

for you to see them

and to remember about forgetting.

Blue birds hanging in the sky

in the clear mornings,

so beautiful to tempt you

to try the very high flight towards hope.

                                              c.r.m.(Loisy)