Some poems, make me fly…

When read, my soul grows, give me happiness.

I felt that life is so wonderful

That all life is filled with light.

And I can achieve the dream of love.

Full of love, not just dreaming…

But always see it,

Those who write them,

Like myself.

We wrote shortcomings,

Desires, nostalgia and dreams…

We are sentient beings,

Those who love touched us,

And perhaps made us poets,

As a means of survival,

As a way to escape the pain and the joy,

We knew that we could not transmit or otherwise.

But I do not much case,

Are just reflections of a poet, in one day fool.

Why is that:

Whoever had, withheld…

Who knew, knows…

Who knew giving and receiving,

Again know granting…

Who knew dream

Again dream…

And who knew love…

… Is and will be loved!…