Poetry: Leo

Astride the foal of youth

runs wildly,

looking with the vehemence of the vanquished,

output.

Old path leading

to farther,

at the top.

A impossible to measure distances,

to places never trodden hoyados by some.

Where does a lion find his lair by dejection tired of life?

A life full of flavors without?

Wherever you find a bed,

rest your fatigue,

heal their wounds.

Then, once renewed momentum,

shake to which

ever

marked his skin,

producing to cruel scars.

If he had not fled

never heal.

And those who closed their ears

to the cries of the dying,

also feel the weight of overwhelming anger.

Will shake the ground,

by dragging their feet odious and deformed.

Shatter the land through which they pass,

transforming it into desert and agony.

Reflecting their souls.

Caches friable

which are enclosed with your worst demons

for conjured in terrible pacts.

Covenants sealed by oaths impossible.

Oaths that would stagger the boldest.

Lion roars in your lair!

Well, one day return with wounds healed

and vigorous body.

You, raging lion,

will fight against those,

you looked with false superiority.

While they wallow in their own poison.

You will be the strongest.

Now, flees back of this beautiful horse,

that as your only savior has emerged,

to take you to your oasis.

Just let yourself go, my beloved!

Well, be my salvation and yours.

You lion, allow your body to recover

of the thousand and one curses, insults and slights.

Tremble deluded!

They only see a facade

and the staunch will not know that lurks within.

Because when it decides ignite

from the inside out,

will do so furiously,

that your bladder will be unleashed,

dishonoring your dignity.

The sharp sword of his pen

afflict the bodies,

who drowned in his swamp,

be covered with poisonous worms

you wallow in the muck of their skeletons unusable.

Deaths that only serve to keep them away from all the beauty and the beautiful.

XIII. Leo. Concerns. 10/11/96

Foto: YSH