Para los Filósofos
Do you ever have those times when you cannot write but you have to? This is one of those. We were supposed to write a spoken word poetry. But since I’m just not comfortable performing anything in any medium, I have to resort to this. So here goes that spoken word poetry that you can only read. I’m not even sure if I got this right.
Dreams and Funerals
Sometimes I gaze at the patterns in the sky and ask,
‘Is this how dreams are made?’
Maybe like the stars, dreams also come from a cloud of gas and dust.
They shine brightly at first, dazzling us with their brilliance.
But just as every beginning has an ending,
their vivid flame wane, burning slowly into weak embers.
Eventually, like all stars, their shrunken remains give way
into an explosive death, creating black holes.
You were that dream – a cross…
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