Until my splendor illuminates the grotesque and helps me to avoid the false light, (that blurriness that tries to get into our eyes the feigned attentions, the cynical smiles, that stink of causticity, the concrete monsters, that seem built to wall with steel reinforcements, unfulfilled promises and hatred, whose bonfire, stoked by envy and sectarian empowerment, does not stop releasing smoke and embers) I only see clearly, in the nights of my dreams, a sun, on which, When its sunset has come, the rising of another sun appears, in progression, until the universe ceases to be, forever, gloomy and apparent; that yes, taking care, rigorously, to yield to the light of the Moon, a chink through which it passes, without the pretense of dazzling, although yes, with the clairvoyant mission, to inspire the poet.
doctorpoet
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