I write
in the folds
of my neighborhood
because in those furrows
my soul flows like a chalice
turned into salt
by a drop
sliding the rain
directly to the impact
soccer rains
kill or be killed.
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Author:
Damaso (
Offline) - Published: May 16th, 2025 07:17
- Comment from author about the poem: End of the game, tied bruises and laughter.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 45
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments6
This sounds like competition at its most personal level. An intimate write stated in the public sense. Well done
Thank you so much for stopping by and giving your feedback. It's one of the things about rainy days. Best regards.
A sense of an ongoing battle within themselves, which they feel they are losing, nicely expressed and written
Thank you very much, as always, for stopping by. I'm so glad you like it. A little glimpse into our coliseum on the sidewalks. Best regards.
You are very welcome
Excellent write
Thanks for stopping by, my friend. I'm glad you like it. Best regards.
You're welcome
Great metaphor! A most powerful write, my friend! 🌹👏
Thanks, my friend, for stopping by. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for your words of encouragement. Best regards, and have a nice weekend.
You are most welcome. You too!
This poem is intriguing!
Thank you so much for stopping by. I'm so glad this humble text moved you to comment. Best regards.
thoroughly enjoyed this
Thank you so much for stopping by. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Best regards.
most welcome
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