Endless Poem
1
One poem after another, one Sunday after another,
life stretches on, endless and ever-flowing.
Words from an ordinary day,
in the life that overflows,
in that world that is one,
yet so profoundly different
from one person to another.
2
Worlds of letters,
thoughts
stitched together,
day by day,
alive.
3
In that work,
destined to become something,
endless,
until it reaches its close.
4
Within our desires,
the longings of life,
which we fashion
simply by being,
I sail,
I live.
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1
Un poema tras otro, un domingo tras otro,
la vida se hace interminable y continua.
Letras de un día cualquiera,
en la vida que se derrama,
en ese mundo que es uno,
pero que es tan distinto
de unos a otros.
2
Mundos de letras,
pensamientos
hilvanados,
día a día,
vivos.
3
En esa obra,
que será algo,
interminable
hasta acabar.
4
En nuestros deseos,
anhelos de la vida,
que creamos
al existir,
navego,
vivo.
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Author:
Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS (
Offline) - Published: September 27th, 2026 05:17
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Jamiano, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Very identifiable my friend. Nicely written it tells of life day to day and poems word by word yet all come to an end, or do they.
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.
Everything that begins, I suppose, must end — except the soul.
This is the poem of Sundays; every Sunday I will continue it…
a poem that does not end until new poems arrive.
Most welcome my friend
Thank you for this beautiful poem that reflects the beauty within desire. Poetic creative images of the longing to be fulfilled, within one's soul time.
Let us remember that no matter how badly life goes,
we can always see and create beauty,
because beauty is everywhere
and in our hearts.
Thank you for looking into that intimate world called poetry,
which can live in prose or in verse,
or in any form it chooses.
Carlos, I enjoyed this very much. There is something peaceful in the way it moves forward without needing a grand conclusion. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
I suppose that, in some way, I reflect that calm way of being of mine —
that even if the world collapses around me, it doesn’t matter;
I take refuge in my poems,
and I am born again as if nothing were happening.
Thank you for looking into the world of words we create
with the hope of being read
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