My dark cage in silver glass
Allows me to see in the dark
For twelve years I tried to run fast
But the guardian of my hell mark
Caught me and took me in
Yanked my feet and blinded my eyes.
Tried to be master the tool of a god
That never gets rotten nor ever dies
I tried to escape million times over, oh lord.
I won’t see the mountains nor the blue skies.
My cage is dark and make me shy
My heart beats and that almost die
When the muse is wandering around
I feel my sorrow so deep and prefund.
In the dark I am only allowed to write
In a old and broken notebook and poems born
And monster lurks deep in the dark
Watching over me while I dare to sleep, I learn.
In the dark there is no space for any spark
A spark of hope could arise from my fingers
But the monster is vigilant and the cage hurts
My eyes bleed and hurt
My body yells and the voice hurts.
But I will be free, you will see.
Freedom will come, you will see.
About the Creator
Antonio Madrugada
Writing rite since I am 13. Empower me to grow and I will publish my first novel of fantasy soon.
I am Portuguese. I am 33.
I published my first book in 2019.
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Words Bringing Freedom
Chapter One To Pain I didn't explore the unknown To now feel the pain That chased me before in the dark I feel its bite, I know its color. I came to the light But I still have a shadow That follows me in the darkness that seduces her And what the heart remembers And tell me something still hurts And the things that don't kill, moi. It's in the darkest night That the tears of pain flow And not tears of self-pity That others don't understand and pretend Realize who you are And there's a hoarse scream inside the reverse That doesn't say everything that should already be said But the darkness speaks: shut up. I omit. Villages There are villages that have the capacity To stop time While people catch your bus And give you a ride on your perspectives and beliefs, preferably in the lives of others. While evil saying went out of fashion and importance It's the only clothes they have And in their litany, it's the only bread they'll sell. In the morning and at dusk The shrill voices come with disdain On full, dirty and old buses that take you and take you away from reality And they are the ones who tell tales about bluebeards, Undead from an invented east, Of poor people who eat bread that the devil has kneaded. Row against a tide From a whirlwind of mentalities From small media, where people don't read And suffered from the realities Of lost dreams and stolen futures And in the dreams that were destroyed Create your void to fill with Pain, loneliness, bitterness, poverty and misery And that makes people bitter and sad. Children Children suffer in times of peace Children suffer in times of war If someone tells me there is no injustice So who created the real sense of justice? Alone, they pay the price for existing Trauma exists Pain exists at any age Society wanted to prohibit your freedom Because as we grow up we become envious Of the true invocation of innocence. Alone, they suffer abandonment in silence. In silence they suffer all evils That are created by criminals The pain is unbearable but they love who you are Now you love materialism and hate everyone Because selfishness and envy are greater Than to see that a child is born without love. A child sees all colors When you only see the gray And if you only see the gray, Let a child see the colors for you So that your heart doesn't get lost In the vain reality of the void so cold and dark. Even in pain, the smile of a child It's a light that's softer than the sun. Let hope invade you and the child in you creates the design Of the dream you lost with destiny. Angels There are angels who don't need wings In this land that plows and sows The vineyards of chaos and futile things Brought by misery and poverty. Not only in material poverty But in the spirit, when there are angels Who suffer for our banal That slowly kills innocent beings. A world we were born into We are soaked in sins And crimes committed by others And we lost the wings of innocence We have lost our true consciousness. There are angels who fly too soon When the world only cares With materialism in a dockless port And there is no place for dreams, only guilt. Grey day It's a gray day, The city buildings, They cry for their heap, Made by men without truth, Corrupt and kill completely, The real meaning of life. The most perfect crime ever committed, Like the conjugation of verbs, From the more than perfect past tense, Made with almost no errors. They killed the real meaning of life. They killed the real sense of humanity. Futile and useless Futile and useless have outlined paths That involves coming up with unfounded pretexts To have a simple superfluous conflict And they go beyond the measure of the simplest complex Whether of superiority or inferiority Wearing out for no reason at all, the truth. These include politicians and criminals That in their purest Nature feel pleasure In bringing the pettiest things and are dubious beings. Your nature is inconsistent in abstract square roots. As guaranteed as ensuring that the impossible is possible In the promises of bad payers and campaigns Who offer more pens and promises at any level On the poor man's level, if your ties are worth more than a house. Eyes What words for? If your eyes say it all? You told me you loved My heart and in my world I learned to see you With eyes to see You taught me well to read you. I have a lot to praise you for. Why dream If you are a reality? I learned that you are a queen to worship, You gave me the purpose to fight for the truth For your pure and rare love. You are a sweater For my little soul, The cold can be colder But you are Spring With your very knowledgeable words, That make new fruits grow Our future together. But I feel empty In your absence But you taught me To be resistant. Because you love me. I learned to save Your warmth in my heart I learned from you to believe I kept your kisses in one hand. I keep them so they don't fly away, Waiting for the cycles of life Don't take us Away from my care and joy. Another East I breathe the city, With a smell of the future, But sin for reality, Of the difficulties of beggars. And the wet grass in the garden, It is the lung of city life. As if nothing were, anyway, That lack of adrenaline of mine, To feel the sweet touch Of adventure shaking me. I feel people's cold, That go empty and gray, It hurts just thinking about it, I get discouraged In how much city poverty, Not just in a city in the other east. Bucharest is harsh and cold. Belgrade suffers for the gray, And scars from a war. I don't pretend I'm tired of acting And see no action It's like throwing pebbles And stagnant water and not acting It doesn't make ripples. This is what I see in those who give up And he crosses his arms, it's sad. Someone tell me to have strength When my strength could carry the world And I'm not Atlas who was condemned Carrying the world forever. I'm one of those who fight the most For the things I believe And I stopped feeling sorry For those who crossed their arm over the other arm The one that trapped me in pessimism. I chose to be free But I'm not free I chose to be king of myself But I was given a fate That I cry, sing and mourn And yet I feel the contempt From the society that wanted me small. My grave will be shallow But it won't take away my honor Having fought against the impossible In a battle against the useless and invisible being. To someone dictator with their arms crossed Who wanted to oppress my hope There will be a hero before the unloved Who will bring joy and will be the king of perseverance. CHAPTER TWO Never give up Giving up slowly undressed And in your shame The resistant will was born Like firewood That feeds a living fire That burns dismay. In a gentle touch Like a leaf What touches lightly The dew, and look Your wings of freedom Being born resistant On an April morning Crossing your arms It became a useless option And it turns out that there are spaces in the arms For a new opportunity Freedom Happiness Reality Immortal ability To be someone who believes May the positive things They are the best for those who believe Think about objective things To build a better world Where only harmony and love reign. Could it be that when we were born into this world Did we have a choice at the beginning? Yes, but that choice has been stolen from us Just because we were innocent To the evils created by the human condition And that given us the human condition That deep down We knew what we were born with But we just didn't want to believe it. Labels When we are born, a book is opened to us And that same thing is printed on us Labels, a religion before we had a name A name and numbers that identify us. This book ends later But it's not buried with us It is archived in the memory archives In the story that many want to forget. Everyone will forget you and your glories. Pure creativity dies at birth And what remains? Residual creativity and innovation remain. There remains the small essence that needs a body This nucleus is sensitive and requires protection. It's a life without salt, passion, flavor or heart. At birth we are designated human But before we are attached to a human body We were a star that died in the vast universe. And when our human body dies Let's be new stars who learned What it is like to suffer in the face of just one human life. Like a cloth torn into strips Being honest with you, I admit that I love being yours, In this clandestine, I don't even care, Just being yours is my privilege alone, That many never had and wanted, Sailing in your sweet sea of tenderness, Without understanding your fire, they burned themselves. This fire of passion that lasts, And I love your heat, That calms me down and I fall asleep in your lap, This infinite love, which is pure love. That despite our clandestine, You blind the envious with that flame, And you illuminate those who love you, I love loving you in hiding. Hope I only have one thread of hope left A spider web that seems fragile And a shot in the dark that lost shape While I have a fever dream Even if you don't have a fever. Released at the top of my lungs, a prayer That propagates in an echo and is lost. As I preached to my dream The trading floor, in which my fear It's not like waking up and seeing another day But to wake up and see another day In which hypocrisy reigns in everyone. Nobody goes anywhere As long as your freedom Not rescued from fasting, The pure hunger for knowledge and reality. Let there be truth And when those who sleep wake up Take the pure nectar and believe That knowledge is the way To discover your next address Like birds leaving the nest, Learn to fly on the horizon of the new dawn. End To me The hours in the background At the ends of the world I scream yes To silence so many no's That don't fit in my hands. Empty hands at the end In the fight Like the rosemary fields In the mountains of bitterness Where life lost its meaning Where the devil lost his boots Unloved and forgotten In the hours, neither alive nor dead. Happiness Happiness Smile Now you give Now you breathe Now caress Say how much you love someone You'll see when. Harbingers of destruction (All politicians – without exception) Harbingers of misfortune They gave a sign of their grace To preach to the people That changed something When the sand of time Blind anyone who wants to see the truth It's not the people's fault It's the propaganda that kills reality. People, this silence It's a nail in the coffin In a country that dies poor and hoarse People, they have no compassion. Today a son is not going to war But it's whatever. Today a son leaves home In the hope that it comes To find better life Or your life will be compromised Before the harbingers of misfortune Who preach that change It's right there around the corner. Like a cloth torn into strips (Part II) I want to be your impossible, Love you even if this destiny, Ironically incredible, May he finally deign to let me stay with you. Ignorance May be bad, fate cruel, And give me all the impossible, May he find, incredible, And make me think about the unlikely. But I will fight for you woman, You're the one who anyway, Whatever happens, whatever happens, I love you in hiding, you are ultimate. Far from my ignorance, I'm in the only place, Where can I kill her, Without committing any crime. Now I can just ignore, That piece of me, That takes me away from wisdom, Of pure endless knowledge. Or else, kill her little by little, No crime or recriminations. Without being afraid of my actions, I draw on the wisdom of thousands of books. I torture her, disembowel her and cut her, She twists, she screams, but from here, Don't run away while I, a student, Don't kill ignorance, That has haunted me since childhood. The one who is petty, evil, It made me an unloved person, It almost destroyed who I am, But finally it was me who killed her. Loneliness The pain of loneliness For the nefarious contempt To those who love the darkness From her giving birth to epics at random. They reported the glory of the nation overseas But fate gave them everything Less on history, a little consideration These are the wise men, representatives of Luso. Platonic lovers, ship designers, Of dreamed seas never sailed They defied death to make centipede paint Distilling their poison, but unloved. Society killed them, like fleas Slowly sucking and poisoning. In the end, society proclaims rhymes as its Secular people are wise, the wise are reckless. Cruelty Every drop of cruelty That form in the dew From the dawns of reality When resting, before work Of lives that dreamed of peace, All ideologies have died For only one and only one capable He dictated the fate of many who struggled In reality of sins they did not commit. Corrupt laws in a single theology In a corrupt theology above all others In a single line of thought When the being dares to be born in the early morning The day will be red and sad, without love And the flesh slowly rots in the heat And to the sound of the weapons orchestras. Soldiers occupy all the beds These beds where children could sleep And dream of a better world and smile. Women, mothers and creators of science Protectors of happiness and childhood They could be free to be more and better That the Men who corrupt everything And they forget what love is. Stoned, raped, sold, The best Women suffer. Child soldiers, little lost souls Who could have everything, suffer. Know Know, That I am not eternal Think That I will give you all of me Even if you have nothing Even so I want you to step on a jasmine carpet You're not wrong If you tell me that living is difficult But it's harder to live without you And that dreams run wild And I never forgot From your first words When everything was so uncertain When we walked the streets How we still do and stay close To stop and kiss us for no apparent reason It's such a shameless tangent That I don't scream love for you. Know, That I am not eternal But what power I'm here for you, Think May our love It could be like an old movie Maybe like the classic Passion, pain and a happy ending Moments in slow motion That we want to rewind intensely And madly so that we can't Letting die what we created eternal. True Only those who tell the truth, You know its true meaning. Come from this, kindness Even for those who have forgotten That the truth should be the pillar Fundamental of human laws, next to respect. Which we must fight for. Truth is not bought in the market From counterfeit products But even so, it is sold in exchange for nothing, apparently. Respect is the fundamental basis Of trust, and it is with trust, Along with respect, In truth, there is peace between all men without exception. The truth doesn't kill, it kills Whoever lies, lies with a closed mind. It hurts? I know it hurts. If someone comes to you at dawn And admit that this person who was mistaken, Someone lied about you before, in your coat. Take that person to your house And take a good look at who you have in front of you Be kind and share your food. If that someone were to ask for the whole hand later, It's because it's demanding, that's clear. You know you gave a finger. He this person asked for a whole arm, But it was a finger, it was what you could give. Then you will have the truth. If then the truth of your work is cut off Know that you did your best to be better In that case, it is better, even if with love, Get the lie out of the way Because this is the best medicine. CHAPTER THREE I thought you were the captain I thought you were the captain From a drifting boat But after all, you are the castaway with a heart. Your hand that forever sails In sunken dreams written In leaves that the sea took with it So that the sad and disillusioned eyes They couldn't cry any more dyed salt. At sea you smile, captain of yourself King of yourself, emperor of the wild sea In the sea breeze and above all the wilderness Where monsters hid in your path You found your crown in the abyss And your throne of crystal clear water in pain Because beyond the pain there is love. A love that no one can kill you. Desecrate, steal, deceive, obfuscate or even eviscerate. The poet's work written in the poets' tavern To those who only look Lucky for you that you don't have it, Drinking wine and are poets, Singers and lovers Of forbidden platonic loves With the muses of the taverns full Of drunken and brutish men. But in secret the poets, They suffer in silence despite laughing From the stupid jokes of idiots That scare away the muses. Poets, when drinking, fall in love By the Lady, the Muse of muses, The Queen of all, Who sits next to you. Drunk on yourself, He has love with her Carnal in your imagination And platonic in the real world And it's nothing more than that. - "To love is not a sin!" Says one of the brutes from afar. And I don't know if these words They would be another joke Or if they would be for the poet. Being loved is a privilege taken away To the poets who love and suffer, But suffering is perpetual and continuous, That even after your death The words keep pleading And begging, begging for love. But they are not loved, except by their Muse The one that whispers to you with excitement The divine words of the complete works. In death, only mourners cry For it is your duty to cry with fake tears. And so the poet is buried. Besides, what's the point of burying Another being who suffered the plots From the hypocritical and false society, Just it. Happiness? Only had when it was packed On the immaculate breast of a muse and mother, That ultimate muse who saw him born. The poet is only loved in death And your soul gets stuck in the mindset False of society that like this, He saw him born, live, drink, never grow old And then die. Wine helps with inspiration From the poet who writes about his muse, And in the night outside he hallucinates and sees his body In the stars in the bright sky In distant constellations, he writes drunk The words that draw the dream. He writes of the muse who sits By your side in the cold tavern It is empty of importance and full of uselessness. The muse serves him the last deadly coptail The real hypocrisy of society. In the last words he says: - “I drank from suffering and suffered But I survived to this day To die, never in peace, For I did not write the work that the universe He ordered writing and creating. The Work is incomplete.” The Work was incomplete. Perfect Muse By the voice of the muse that inspired me Writing poems about the world That she made me invent, because she ordered it It's up to me, an imperfect poet, to write About your body and your lips They gently kiss my face. Knowing that in the moonlight, Your silhouette shines in splendor Stopping looking brings me pain And loving her brings me her flavor. Sea mermaid, extended Just for me, green eyes A light that illuminates, Scented golden and brown hair A pure breeze in my ocean In which I get lost but I'm happy. I'm an apprentice I learn words with you In your voice of pure harmony Otherwise, I disconnect from the world I look at your shiny body in fantasy For me it is pure joy. Perfect breast Hill of a beautiful city Maybe Maria Lisboa your name You embrace the sea with your arms. Thin, flat belly The beginning of your hips A guitar that cries in the Fado. Legs and feet, I see the columns Main things you support The weight of being the Muse of Portugal, And bathe in the waters of the Tagus Your real home. Tolerance Tolerance is a given Which over time has been lost. Becoming a luxury that few have That only eccentrics hold, They are rich in goods but poor in spirit. Tolerance is sold in public In this eternal and distant republic, It would never be given, as before, And now auctions are held at the price of gold, Only bought by important people. How did we get to this? But the important ones don't use it They just collect it as a piece of art To put it next to patience, Both stored in a dusty basement, Spider webs and centipedes. There is a monster in the basement Called hypocrisy that keeps Patience and tolerance, So that its owner can use it for greed, When he wants, And he owns his will, Which is clearly her own. Beggar I was never a housekeeper I didn't even ask for alms in cars From the point of view in detail From the disturbing killing and skinning, In a limp and deaf way, Society lacks the spring of culture, The real beggar who clears his head To the webs of manipulation I never asked for alms I just stole letters from the library To put them in order. Despite being crude, they had order. And the muse wanted this order As disordered as me I get messed up myself And I order and return to disorder. And society won't even arrive To the glorious fullness of disorder Of having a thousand thoughts To order. Society has an order Just be ordered With small salaries Disorganized in small numbers And such big problems. My book saved me today From the bombardment of insults My culture saved me The life that is rightfully mine My book saved my freedom My book calmed down and embraced My cry that wanted to scream The lyrics scream my cry, now. The words in this book are my voice now. I am they and they are my being, Whatever happens, whatever it hurts. My book got me where I am today My book protected me Of the idiocies of the woman in front Who talks through his elbows That weaves skeins And sew the jackets to the third parties. My book saved my culture, My Language and Memory Of the letters that play with me Like simple, naughty children. I remember my childhood Because the lyrics of my book They saved my memory and happiness. Early morning Have courage my love Time does not stop There are no hours for pain And nothing separates us. Today could be better, With so much to live for How will we know by heart Every detail without reading. Have courage my princess If tomorrow is black That the rhythm of what doesn't matter Do not penetrate the intimate. Courage, have courage Breast wants and screams freedom Dreams want color and courage They want freedom without time Without the dictatorship of the clock. My love, tomorrow will be the day If today was a wasted night Courage, my errant sun The morning will be dawn. Dream killer I became Once again the killer Of my own Doomed dreams (Victimized) For the sincere fears And let me scream (And leave me the pain.) That I believed What could you change Or you get tired of having this haughty nose That you could, In fact, it just makes you tired Not even for Three seconds, of that pride. My love my Love) At two by three, you would be real Like dreams (I believe) That I thought I had (I cried), Of me running with you In the cereal fields (Arrozal) But if everything so far, Dreams or love It's to forget (I don't forget) Raw chest (A wound) The invented kisses In the paradox (What did I invent?) Out of nowhere in a live circle In the blank nights We empty sheets From the beginning. Your love How many times have I spoken That I love you and will love you And the suppressed cries that I silenced Were in vain In the flood of disappointment. My chest hurts now Your inordinate absence Awakens screams outside the night But the voice is silent The soul is almost ready To defy all contraries And I draw new imaginaries. How many times have I spoken That our love was more Something much more than eternal Like morning dews It was sweet and meaningful In our stations Of our emotions. Our love could be eternal And not that pure wilderness From distant words One-way like the roads. Boy's heart Boy's heart Don't take the wrong way You who get into trouble And the head doesn't gain any sense. Listen to the voice of reason Don't listen to the disappointment. It hurts, I know it hurts Suffer, I know you suffer Disillusionment only destroys And sometimes you even get lost. Little bird should be free In the emotions we experience In the paradox of the dream A cry emerges alone, the deception. Multiplied by seven In a fire that burned inside Now the pain of your emptiness In the face of time so slow The time that forgot you. Love multiplied times seven You are an angel and a fighting woman, remembered Your shining happiness A guide and example, beloved. Luster of hope Smile that shined Voice that filled our being Look closely at your tenderness. The tender touch of pure happiness So simple that it healed the being. We live on your love We never lacked affection From your hands the heat The cold that has now become. It hurts It hurts so much It just hurts It hurts But there is also happiness Of having been yours. I went I always revealed Too much of me I thought Too much in endless nights I found myself lost Without ever finding me, Broken And with so much to give. I was the silent answer Of knowing how to be In the weeping of the morning Where many get lost. I went I went And I will no longer be I know now that I'm exhausted The tears And the sea will be incomplete, That could inspire poets. Room In a dark room I feel that emptiness Of your absence The loneliness it causes. The tears And the silent words The silence of the walls I want you to understand. Back tomorrow I have space in me In my heart To give and sell until the end. Listen slowly to my plea Just like the slow lament In the blank nights In a room devoid of you. Innocent love And if I want to stay Remember that I stay for you My love, to love you And to tell you that I lived The greatest love story. There are no rules in this game If we are the eternal child That for the time that advances And laugh mischievously at the first kiss. And if I stay with you I will be yours forever Just like a river That runs into a sea. Your sea Our sea. Words Words we created For something (who knows what) Words we dictate To answer, (who knows what) Words we keep silent So it doesn't hurt, (who knows what) There are words that come into the world To bring happiness There are words that come into the world To bring sadness. Words that hurt We are human after all Words that make us smile We are human after all. These are the words That make you dance The little people Always working. I liked you I liked you I who lived in you And I smile To the dizzy details Of the jokes That we had I thought... It was a love without barriers. Now I'm a sailor From a stranded boat. And I still breathe The waves of your sea I let myself sink. Your breeze still plays My crazy heart And in pure madness I am the lost sailor In the middle of the vast ocean Of your absence. Come back and save me Mermaid and muse Come back and save me Take me out of this bitterness. We are harmony In trio, duo or solo, We are harmony, We are children in the lap, That the cosmos packs, With all your patience, From a father who calms us down. It's logic and science, We are music, that awakens, Who sleeps in the absence of sound. Find peace That inside is born The joy it brings If we believe in touch Perfect of words That fill our soul Tuning melodies That fill us with calm. Give me your hand Give me your hand Come with me Give me your hand I want to walk with you In this life, I give you my heart I'm in love For life outside I was the one who always loved you Sadness doesn't live here. Princess give me your hand Walk with me Take good care of my heart You are my shelter. Silence I touch your silence In your empty objects In a house empty of you In a burning perfume echoes In the dead walls of my being. It was when I lost you I realized that the promises of love oaths They left a pain and I was empty of you. I insisted, I felt, I fought, I lost. In the noisy flesh The wounds are from war A battle in silence A fight in the deep dark of your absence. Pretend Pretend we play With the shadow of our hand in hand And we draw the letters with chalk As mischievous as your look. Maybe tomorrow I want to kiss Your pink lips, maybe. Maybe I'll ask for a date tomorrow Or you steal my apple That I wanted to share forever With you smiling, I remember. Pretend we count the years together May our joined hands never become disunited On the street we walked when we grew up And that we speak timid feelings from the heart. Stage On stage I'm different The hurt hurts less The voice has a warm tone Even in the moments Dead from the note interval The joy of living and healing What music do you bring on your laps? And in the dizzying turns of the dance A song appears in a child's dreams. On stage I'm different I create magic without wanting to I create passion in burning fire In the dance laps I get lost When looking at your incessant smile I'm the child who plays barefoot In the sands of passing time Bring me the dream Bring me the song That you whistle and I sing Brings love to my heart. To be different on this stage. Voices Shrill voices, Headaches, You cry and scream through your teeth. The unreal is cried, it collapses The world, the real one cries. It hurts, even if you ask the universe, May it silence some of the voices, That with atrocious speeds They slowly kill the real concrete Of my sad being without color. Some of the voices that provoke Pains, and not just me, crush, Who wants to be free from frivolous society That first sows panic, then storms. In this colorless world Without the sun, the heat, The gray and frowning ones remain. The sepia sunsets and the birds They were extinguished by beauty, The cold and frivolous humanity holds dear, To petty ego and false innocence. This is Man, his main delinquency. Make me an unknown poet In the price of your arrogant books Because I know, certain conversations have upset you And I know you want to hate ignorant poets. I would be ignorant if I fell into the industry And wait for temporary and payment in a hurry. Exchange help for no help, my anguish. A smile and take care of the expense made in a hurry. And I had already heard the whole litany. A poet knows how to pretend. And who takes advantage of the work He knows how to forge and is always on the run And in the end, they know how to sell and beat the snake. Yes, it's you there, the direct one that hurts you Is very... When the poet knows how to pretend better People say that the poet wants to be a myth and dead Who were poor unloved people without shame. And you selling empty pages Whose hypocrisy in the face of unread pages?
By Antonio Madrugada8 months ago in Poets
Comments (2)
Nice writing. Kindly like mine as well
Powerful use of words.