First page of the poems and poetries archive

Making Books

Posted by Juan on December 31, 2012 with Comments Closedas

My book that I wrote with my thoughts. Feelings To love, a so good feeling that it makes to float, the desire to love me to feel makes me well, with me and all. The love is so true that it transmits peace, joy, tranquilidade, a full happiness of imaginations. To my they leave me thoughts in very happy peace and, therefore I love liking the life and having always somebody to share, to follow, to help and to give joy at the moments that is necessary. The homesickness is good, therefore it indicates that we like and we value the people who we love that we want well, that we need them to share and to divide sad and happy moments of our lives. Who loves is capable of everything to live happy to the side of the loved person, who loves of truth knows to give love and to receive affection from who also values and loves of truth. In the life we have many feelings, but what it moves these feelings is the reason, therefore if we think good things we will have good and tranquilos feelings, but if we think about bad things we will have negative and sad feelings. An important feeling in the life of the people exists very that is the friendship feeling, however this feeling nor always is found in the people. To have friends is not to have a prize or a thing any, to have friends is as to have a gift that God gave in them. Optimum and true friend is God, therefore it not mind, does not criticize and not juga our attitudes, for the opposite it in the aid very, therefore we need it the time all and it is always present stops always helping in them. He continues


Posted by Juan on October 21, 2012 with Comments Closedas

Your perfume. The cloud of odors and cheiros sobrevoou olfatos. Foam of waves had fallen on the sand and in it gave the goddess to them of the glory. The perpetual souvenir of the happiness. Sighs and desires pairaram on the life. The life desired to stop to see the ticket Of the perfume arrebatou that me it shrank and me to a simple existence. Existence that lived in the touchs of soft fingers Fingers that had remembered to mine other lives and promises to me Happinesses kept under the captivity of the tato.

Smoothness. Hidden affections. Touched petals. Flowers deceased that live in the smoothness of its tenuous leves Petals of the simplicity of the diva woman. The touch, the perfume, the smoothness under masks of absent eyes. Eyes that run away. Touchs that are.

The soft perfume that hangs. The hands of the life stop. The dreams if carry through in the absence of the time. Soft it is not at night. It is only the surplus of an absence. Absence of the perfume that enevoou the pearl race without wire. That as wild waterfalls tambores rufam of crystalline water-dreams. Dreams of touchs, perfumes and pearls.