My litlle poem
Reciting poems I go through my life. As a poet have uncertain, irregular and insecure life. The only certainty I have, is that my life shall end, one-day sooner or later. Where are you hope? Where can I find you? Between orange gardens, orange color orange, warm and pleasant colors of autumn I walk through! If I see an abandoned bank, as abandoned as me, I ask him permission to sit and enjoy the sitting and its company for a while. The bank is rusty and full of orange leaves, orange color orange, warm and pleasant colors of autumn, is sad and nostalgic like me. The stone tours of roads are orange, full of orange leaves, orange color orange, which fall without stopping from the trees that became orange color orange, as autumnal as me. My smile is also orange, because it’s not yellow or sour, is not either red and cheerful. My smile is orange, orange color orange! My face is orange and my eyes they see the future orange, color orange, expressionless, relentless pursuiting the face of hope that makes us relived, illuminated and more brightly colored, and sadly, cannot find it! Reciting poems between orange gardens, I assume that, perhaps hope has become orange, orange like me!