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Erramos por una calle
del puerto antiguo.

Ni una flor se abre
en tiesto qui
es lleno des simientes
cuál yo te di.

¿Cuántos cerraduras
están sobre la puerta
cuál guía
hacía
comprension?

Los parpados de sombre
ha cubrieron
los ojos
yo he supe
por años
pero ahora
no veo nada
dentro.

¡Aquí se termina
nuestro vuelto
por pueblo
todo hecho
d'una idea
mutua!
I don't write poetry. I used to. When I was sixteen. Everybody did that. But when I write something wort sharing, it is never in language I'd know for long.
After six years of French, I started learning Spanish. And I like it. And I did the same thing as few years ago. With La Reserche de la Verité.
And it links to something I need to move on from. It was probably the same with the previous one.
I've had enough symbolism today. Let's do the essay I have to write. Oh wait. That is almost as abstract as this :D
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November 19, 2016
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