So called poetry! Blog by Nosta
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Nosta's blog: "So called poetry!"

created on 03/25/2008  |
Catalysts of the existential sufferings, the words have the force and the capacity to transcend life, to exceed its condition, to change form. Put into sentences, the words wear clothes of joy, pain, intense memories drawn from childhood and adolescence. I wanted to share with you bits of my existence, of silences of childhood, the questions which were never asked, of the lack of love never expressed. Because you will find in these poems a little of your own existence, a little of your own interrogations and doubts that you perhaps never dared to express. Prisoner of my education. Prisoner of a society sensitive and afraid of asking the important questions, the human being carries the burden of his anguishes from childhood to the adulthood. I will tell u it can be different if the individuals speak to each other, listen to each other and respects one another. This while transmitting positive values from generation to generation instead of the incomprehension which closes the doors of the communication. I will make you travel in my world, my existence. Telling a story of love, freedom, voyages and encounters. Because thatís also poetry: to transport the dreams towards a space more serene than the reality which often alienates us. Intimate and true, rare.
My wife beat me today. That, for the first time She seemed absolutely delighted. Apparently she got a lot of enjoyment. She said: "Why would it always be the opposite. Her face showed "I am so proud. I finally beat my husband. I Finally succeeded" That hurt me very badly. To be beaten by a woman. It mostly hurt my moral. Perhaps also in my heart. That pleased her so much. Saying she hopes to do it again in the future. I said that the cards betrayed me. The cane flush, that made her win. Here i am, a beaten man. Without bruises, but disappointed.
Perhaps that's love, the great love Who took me by the hand This cold feeling in the back And suddenly warms me up, when everyone is cold Perhaps that's what makes my heart beat. And during hours will make me remain there, in front of a telephone. Just to hear a voice. In front of a telephone which will not ring. Perhaps that's love, the great love. Who took to me by the arm. This brutal feeling when everything was going wrong. And suddenly feel great without knowing where that comes from. Perhaps that's what makes me cry of joy And makes me run on midnight under the rain Under the rain, without coat While screaming "the weather is nice!" While screaming that life, life couldn't get better then this. Before, right before going to sleep. Perhaps that's....Love. Amazing Love!
Friends who read this. It's time that I reveal some things. Because it is necessary that you know what is hiding behind the mask. I can't return services. I'm a concentrate of all the defaults. I'm always pretending, I cheat too. I make believe that I am a poet. And when i have to say thank you. I run away. I'm always late. I am malicious, vindicatory I have revenge for currency. And if you hit me in the face. I see red and I atomize you. I am odious with women. They hate me. People call me the Infamous. Do you regret reading this? Probably this portrait frightens you. I have nevertheless one last thing to say to you. I am also a big LIAR! :p
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