What is poetry?
Poetry is the artistic expression through words of the naked mind—unique, sincere, and alive—woven through verses and, at times, through prose. It is the most intimate reflection of the human being, a distilled form of infinite thought shaped into something both fragile and eternal. It is the freest manner of expression one can possess: a way to fly without wings, to travel without money, to hold the universe within the limits of a page.
Even when words remain the same, their arrangement creates something incomparable—an unrepeatable harmony. A poem is not merely a structure of lines or sentences; it is a living rhythm, a quiet pulse that echoes within the reader. Whether bound in meter or freed into prose, it belongs to the vast, ever-expanding sphere of poetry.
The expression of poetry—the act of writing a sentence—begins with a beat of the soul. It is an inexplicable force, sometimes stronger than love, that reveals hidden chambers within us. And the only way to release it is through those uniform figures we call words. Words become vessels, carrying emotion from silence into existence.
And that is poetry: the still image reflected in the pupil of the eye, the echo that lingers after the sound has faded. Poetry holds the past, speaks in the present, and imagines the future. Within it, there are no true errors—because the greatest mistake is silence, the refusal to express what trembles inside.
Perhaps poetry is not always recognized in its purest form—ink on paper—but it lives quietly in everyday moments. It hides in the melody of a favorite song, in the phrase that sends a shiver through your body, in the rhythm of speech that moves you without explanation. Many do not realize that these lyrics, these fragments that resonate so deeply, are poetry in disguise—verses shaped not just to be read, but to be felt.
Poetry is not confined to poets; it belongs to anyone who has ever felt too much and searched for a way to say it. It is the language of the unspeakable, the bridge between thought and emotion, and the proof that even silence can find a voice.
"The expression of poetry, writing, a sentence, begins with a beat of the soul. That inexplicable feeling even stronger than love that it reveals in ourselves, and the best way to let go this feeling is through the uniform figures called: words. And that’s poetry. The uniform image in the pupil of the eye... Poetry represents the past, present, and future, and there are no errors, because the biggest mistake: is not to express it. Perhaps poetry is not as appreciated in its normal state: writing; but unwittingly it succumbs to your ear the sound of that your favorite song, and even more, that word makes vibrate your body, not knowing that lyrics were written poetically." -Joshi
Even when words remain the same, their arrangement creates something incomparable—an unrepeatable harmony. A poem is not merely a structure of lines or sentences; it is a living rhythm, a quiet pulse that echoes within the reader. Whether bound in meter or freed into prose, it belongs to the vast, ever-expanding sphere of poetry.
The expression of poetry—the act of writing a sentence—begins with a beat of the soul. It is an inexplicable force, sometimes stronger than love, that reveals hidden chambers within us. And the only way to release it is through those uniform figures we call words. Words become vessels, carrying emotion from silence into existence.
And that is poetry: the still image reflected in the pupil of the eye, the echo that lingers after the sound has faded. Poetry holds the past, speaks in the present, and imagines the future. Within it, there are no true errors—because the greatest mistake is silence, the refusal to express what trembles inside.
Perhaps poetry is not always recognized in its purest form—ink on paper—but it lives quietly in everyday moments. It hides in the melody of a favorite song, in the phrase that sends a shiver through your body, in the rhythm of speech that moves you without explanation. Many do not realize that these lyrics, these fragments that resonate so deeply, are poetry in disguise—verses shaped not just to be read, but to be felt.
Poetry is not confined to poets; it belongs to anyone who has ever felt too much and searched for a way to say it. It is the language of the unspeakable, the bridge between thought and emotion, and the proof that even silence can find a voice.
"The expression of poetry, writing, a sentence, begins with a beat of the soul. That inexplicable feeling even stronger than love that it reveals in ourselves, and the best way to let go this feeling is through the uniform figures called: words. And that’s poetry. The uniform image in the pupil of the eye... Poetry represents the past, present, and future, and there are no errors, because the biggest mistake: is not to express it. Perhaps poetry is not as appreciated in its normal state: writing; but unwittingly it succumbs to your ear the sound of that your favorite song, and even more, that word makes vibrate your body, not knowing that lyrics were written poetically." -Joshi
A Brief History of Poetry
Poetry is one of the oldest forms of human expression, long predating written language.
Today, poetry exists everywhere: in books, music, spoken word performances, and even social media. It continues to evolve, but its essence remains unchanged—the need to express what cannot be contained.
Poetry is one of the oldest forms of human expression, long predating written language.
- Ancient Origins (Oral Tradition): Poetry began as spoken word. Early humans used rhythm, repetition, and sound to tell stories, preserve history, and pass down knowledge. Epics like those attributed to Homer—such as The Iliad and The Odyssey—were originally performed aloud, not read. In ancient civilizations like Mesopotamia, Egypt, and India, poetry was deeply tied to religion, myth, and ritual.
- Classical and Structured Poetry: In ancient Greece and Rome, poetry became more structured, with formal meters and rules. Thinkers like Aristotle even analyzed poetry as an art form. Poetry was often lyrical (meant to be sung), dramatic (performed in plays), or epic (long narrative stories).
- Medieval Poetry: During the Middle Ages, poetry flourished in forms like ballads and courtly love poems. Troubadours in Europe composed verses about romance and chivalry. Writers like Dante Alighieri (The Divine Comedy) and Geoffrey Chaucer (The Canterbury Tales) helped shape literary traditions in their languages.
- Renaissance and Enlightenment: Poetry became more refined and intellectual. Figures like William Shakespeare elevated poetic forms such as the sonnet, blending emotional depth with strict structure.
- Romanticism (18th–19th Century): Poetry turned inward, focusing on emotion, nature, and individuality. Poets like William Wordsworth and John Keats emphasized personal experience and the beauty of the natural world.
- Modern and Contemporary Poetry: In the 20th century, poets began breaking traditional rules. Free verse—poetry without strict rhyme or meter—became prominent, led by figures like Walt Whitman and T. S. Eliot.
Today, poetry exists everywhere: in books, music, spoken word performances, and even social media. It continues to evolve, but its essence remains unchanged—the need to express what cannot be contained.
Poems
Part I & Part II
The idea for this website was born from a persistent, almost burning desire to express my own perspective on life—not with perfect eloquence, but with something far more important: sincerity. Through metaphor and layered meaning, I have tried to capture the many facets of my experience, often in ways that are not easily decoded—intentionally so.
Its purpose, in essence, has already been fulfilled. It was never meant to explain, but to translate my thoughts into something that could live within the enduring beauty of literature—something that might outlast its creator.
The list below gathers the titles of poems I have shared over time, now preserved together to be presented under a single form. A collection of more than 60,000 words stands as what I consider my true treasure.
Thank you for being here—for following, for reading, and for giving space to what I have to say.
Its purpose, in essence, has already been fulfilled. It was never meant to explain, but to translate my thoughts into something that could live within the enduring beauty of literature—something that might outlast its creator.
The list below gathers the titles of poems I have shared over time, now preserved together to be presented under a single form. A collection of more than 60,000 words stands as what I consider my true treasure.
Thank you for being here—for following, for reading, and for giving space to what I have to say.
Poetry (scroll through)
And my Thoughts Fall, with the Force of Gravity
To Be Art
of a Written Word.
Part III...
As I pour sound to these words that did not exist before, my thirst exposes my addiction to writing as if my life depended upon it. A life filled with significance through these words and composed sentences. Forging that written view of a blind perspective. Nevertheless, here I am. Collecting writings as aluminum cans that somehow will quench my thirst.
"Every poem has story, and a strong solid image that poses for me as I write. Because, I am a prince of literature that uses muses beneath the stars just to hear the heartbeat of the living Words…" -Joshi Villagomez
"Every poem has story, and a strong solid image that poses for me as I write. Because, I am a prince of literature that uses muses beneath the stars just to hear the heartbeat of the living Words…" -Joshi Villagomez
Ancient Trees
Marvelous creations that stand upon our fears,
to give us strength, to give us years.
Life that isn't simple, but miraculous magnificent,
as eyes read a new poem to be part of something different.
I am not a gifted writer or composer of wizard Oz,
but merely a modest driver of this life, mine and yours.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Marvelous creations that stand upon our fears,
to give us strength, to give us years.
Life that isn't simple, but miraculous magnificent,
as eyes read a new poem to be part of something different.
I am not a gifted writer or composer of wizard Oz,
but merely a modest driver of this life, mine and yours.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Blue Door
We were in front of ancient art,
contemplating the past, the present, and future.
while, in the sudden, it set as apart,
The wild wind that it came from a blue door.
A metaphor to describe two different worlds,
that sat in front of history to make a memory,
And while we both had different goals,
Our heart-sound was playing in the same symphony.
Nor the past, or the present, or the future,
had existed like they did in that instance,
and if the distance set as again apart,
Save in your hands of goddess my living heart.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
We were in front of ancient art,
contemplating the past, the present, and future.
while, in the sudden, it set as apart,
The wild wind that it came from a blue door.
A metaphor to describe two different worlds,
that sat in front of history to make a memory,
And while we both had different goals,
Our heart-sound was playing in the same symphony.
Nor the past, or the present, or the future,
had existed like they did in that instance,
and if the distance set as again apart,
Save in your hands of goddess my living heart.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Broken Heart
I would prefer your hate,
Than your non-sense reverted silence,
I rather feel the evils fate,
Than the erroneous decision of lie once.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
I would prefer your hate,
Than your non-sense reverted silence,
I rather feel the evils fate,
Than the erroneous decision of lie once.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Estrella Escogida
Había un sismo en su postura sólida.
En su estatuto quieto, de introvertida exótica.
En el endulzado tiempo de una noche de octubre,
con prolongado sentimiento, como nunca lo tuve.
Como danza sinfónica fueron los mírales.
Esas miradas suaves de un resonado violín.
De posesiones verbales para compartir vuestra historia,
Y siendo como las aves al volar en desconocido jardín.
¡Oh señor del viento!
Que soplaste agudo, para mantener el timón,
Que influiste en el mensaje, la respiración, y razón,
Y continuaste dando frases a la respondida fricción.
“Dos puertas,” como una metáfora prevista,
en lluvioso tiempo de disminuida anticipación,
en un encuentro imprevisto con limitada actuación,
donde la espontaneidad dirigió la sincera reacción.
La circunstancia del espontaneo momento,
Trataba de reinventar nuestras vidas,
Al girar con dirección opuesta al viento,
E imaginar que nunca fuimos almas perdidas.
Estrella escogida del penúltimo mes del año.
Concordamos con sutil ligereza.
Sea cual sea la violenta verdad, o el dulce engaño,
Del uno al otro, complementamos la última pieza.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Glances in Pearls & Blue
And there she goes,
Living my heartbeat in suspense,
marching afar from the block’s shop,
and leaving her absence intense.
Tripped my eyes on hers a few.
She looked at me warmly back.
Slipped my fears on Pearls & Blue,
Yet words skipped my head on flat.
The gentle touch of a shorty look,
It boiled the female senses in awe,
The reason of doing was absolute:
Her easeful beauty trilling from afar.
Stranger me, stranger her,
Yet, she did play the game of loves,
Where nothing certain is advert,
Unless the smiling-look: it never goes!
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
And there she goes,
Living my heartbeat in suspense,
marching afar from the block’s shop,
and leaving her absence intense.
Tripped my eyes on hers a few.
She looked at me warmly back.
Slipped my fears on Pearls & Blue,
Yet words skipped my head on flat.
The gentle touch of a shorty look,
It boiled the female senses in awe,
The reason of doing was absolute:
Her easeful beauty trilling from afar.
Stranger me, stranger her,
Yet, she did play the game of loves,
Where nothing certain is advert,
Unless the smiling-look: it never goes!
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Instrumentos
Enrojecido con claridad: al ver al músico.
Al ver al escultor o diseñador de modas.
Al ver al artista entre distinguido público.
Con instrumentos bellos para sus obras.
¿Y que tengo yo?
Un lápiz de grafito viejo que ya no uso.
Una libreta blanca con hojas sueltas.
Una goma rosade engravado ruso.
Y el historial de mis calcinadas letras.
Instrumentos vitales de la vida,
tal como lo puede ser un fogón,
que sirvieron a grandes como la gran Frida,
Y plasmaron en grande su distinción.
¿Y que tengo yo?
Solo un vacío poético,
Y una escritura degollada,
Sin premio nobel genérico,
Y una mente, que no dice nada.
¡Pero no es así!
Este reinventado frenesí
Mis instrumentos: son: ¡mis lectores!
Los canta autores de mis escenas.
Son la fragancia de mil amores,
Entre estos versos y nuevas ideas.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Enrojecido con claridad: al ver al músico.
Al ver al escultor o diseñador de modas.
Al ver al artista entre distinguido público.
Con instrumentos bellos para sus obras.
¿Y que tengo yo?
Un lápiz de grafito viejo que ya no uso.
Una libreta blanca con hojas sueltas.
Una goma rosade engravado ruso.
Y el historial de mis calcinadas letras.
Instrumentos vitales de la vida,
tal como lo puede ser un fogón,
que sirvieron a grandes como la gran Frida,
Y plasmaron en grande su distinción.
¿Y que tengo yo?
Solo un vacío poético,
Y una escritura degollada,
Sin premio nobel genérico,
Y una mente, que no dice nada.
¡Pero no es así!
Este reinventado frenesí
Mis instrumentos: son: ¡mis lectores!
Los canta autores de mis escenas.
Son la fragancia de mil amores,
Entre estos versos y nuevas ideas.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Ingenio Moderno
He vivido enrojecido ya por seis meses,
mirando a la columna y al antiguo reloj,
imaginando a la luna con sus gigantes peces,
Y viviendo en el espejo con un frívolo temor.
Como creatura pequeña de cuentos ficticios,
vago por el bosque encantado, delbar.
de lechuzas con motores y altos edificios,
de imaginados mundos que se convierten en verdad.
Enrojecido ante la ingeniosidad del más joven,
Y la perspicacia rítmica que arde en la consola.
Darwiniano mundo donde si las gallinas no ponen,
Se la tacha de mediocre a la sumisa persona.
Veo el mundo a través de un frasco de Egipto,
que robe en el nocturno invierno de un cementerio.
Antes de robarle leí lo que estaba escrito,
que uno muere en vida por su propio criterio.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
He vivido enrojecido ya por seis meses,
mirando a la columna y al antiguo reloj,
imaginando a la luna con sus gigantes peces,
Y viviendo en el espejo con un frívolo temor.
Como creatura pequeña de cuentos ficticios,
vago por el bosque encantado, delbar.
de lechuzas con motores y altos edificios,
de imaginados mundos que se convierten en verdad.
Enrojecido ante la ingeniosidad del más joven,
Y la perspicacia rítmica que arde en la consola.
Darwiniano mundo donde si las gallinas no ponen,
Se la tacha de mediocre a la sumisa persona.
Veo el mundo a través de un frasco de Egipto,
que robe en el nocturno invierno de un cementerio.
Antes de robarle leí lo que estaba escrito,
que uno muere en vida por su propio criterio.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
La Música se Siente
Al acoger el silencio de una orquestra sinfónica,
Mi mente emite el incienso por una pausa melódica.
No existe el énfasis en el suelo alfombrado,
si no hay un éxtasis por eso sonido afinado.
Es la gracia de no escuchar lo emitido,
Mas son latidos lo que refinan el palpitar,
Una presencia de Dios en el sonido escondido,
Que me hace mi levitar pronunciarse con gran sentido.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Al acoger el silencio de una orquestra sinfónica,
Mi mente emite el incienso por una pausa melódica.
No existe el énfasis en el suelo alfombrado,
si no hay un éxtasis por eso sonido afinado.
Es la gracia de no escuchar lo emitido,
Mas son latidos lo que refinan el palpitar,
Una presencia de Dios en el sonido escondido,
Que me hace mi levitar pronunciarse con gran sentido.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Silver Ring Poem
I want to speak to your brownish ears,
From the firing hell or inexistent heaven.
I want to tell you closely what day reveals,
about the mysterious moment, where love has since fallen.
I want to disturbed the peace in your heart,
And swim in your skin, to reach to your lips.
Or like an American soldier, that is ready for war,
shooting your heart, and say: “This is the moment!”
With an extreme difference to the ordinary verse,
or the specific actions that reflect my stupidity,
I want to tell you always “love you” in inverse,
and that I only belong for you, in this miraculous city.
I rather be an extrovert and romantic Don Juan,
than the unobtrusive and unknown little monster,
because in the moment you depart from this land
Tell me if not, you will remember my eyes in every sunset.
And if you leave again and again to Paris or work,
In prison, I’ll wait, with open arms in your intimate closet,
Supporting the looks, the feels, and the offsets,
That I once gave you, to feel in your skin in the unexpected moments.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
I want to speak to your brownish ears,
From the firing hell or inexistent heaven.
I want to tell you closely what day reveals,
about the mysterious moment, where love has since fallen.
I want to disturbed the peace in your heart,
And swim in your skin, to reach to your lips.
Or like an American soldier, that is ready for war,
shooting your heart, and say: “This is the moment!”
With an extreme difference to the ordinary verse,
or the specific actions that reflect my stupidity,
I want to tell you always “love you” in inverse,
and that I only belong for you, in this miraculous city.
I rather be an extrovert and romantic Don Juan,
than the unobtrusive and unknown little monster,
because in the moment you depart from this land
Tell me if not, you will remember my eyes in every sunset.
And if you leave again and again to Paris or work,
In prison, I’ll wait, with open arms in your intimate closet,
Supporting the looks, the feels, and the offsets,
That I once gave you, to feel in your skin in the unexpected moments.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Sudan
And through the thick skin you lived for generations,
breaking through the dark smoke with an unbent arrow.
Living through the historic moments and many inventions,
As you evolved your presence among new generations.
And with nothing, but remains for tomorrow,
We hope not to fall indifferent with our own existence,
But if from afar you can hear the horror,
It’s resonance of the drums that’ve brought our extinction.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
And through the thick skin you lived for generations,
breaking through the dark smoke with an unbent arrow.
Living through the historic moments and many inventions,
As you evolved your presence among new generations.
And with nothing, but remains for tomorrow,
We hope not to fall indifferent with our own existence,
But if from afar you can hear the horror,
It’s resonance of the drums that’ve brought our extinction.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Sumergido en el Avistamiento de Alaska
Con elegancia la creatura marina,
venia de regreso por el avistamiento de Alaska,
marcando su paso al impulsar la marea,
y a la vez eludiendo los turistas de Francia.
En el escote superficial del mamífero,
había un objeto anclado de pesca,
Romano en esencia del orador más sincero,
donde decía que el amor nunca había sido respuesta.
Si no es por amor que ha viajado la luna,
¿entonces que hago yo en este invierno de duda?
La recordé al ver las ballenas de Alaska,
Que aleteaban danzantes para seguir su camino,
He imagine el tatuaje que ella tanto deseaba,
Que menciono a su vez al estar ella conmigo.
Y la esperanza se hundió junto con las ballenas,
Ahogando el recuerdo y el deseo de amarla.
Sin el amor es el sueño de vivir en cadenas,
habría estado dispuesto a recibir mi condena.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Con elegancia la creatura marina,
venia de regreso por el avistamiento de Alaska,
marcando su paso al impulsar la marea,
y a la vez eludiendo los turistas de Francia.
En el escote superficial del mamífero,
había un objeto anclado de pesca,
Romano en esencia del orador más sincero,
donde decía que el amor nunca había sido respuesta.
Si no es por amor que ha viajado la luna,
¿entonces que hago yo en este invierno de duda?
La recordé al ver las ballenas de Alaska,
Que aleteaban danzantes para seguir su camino,
He imagine el tatuaje que ella tanto deseaba,
Que menciono a su vez al estar ella conmigo.
Y la esperanza se hundió junto con las ballenas,
Ahogando el recuerdo y el deseo de amarla.
Sin el amor es el sueño de vivir en cadenas,
habría estado dispuesto a recibir mi condena.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Te Amo en Mis Sueños
He aprendido a apreciar tu divina voz,
Con el silencio interpretado de mis ojos,
Mientras duermo arrullado en los sueños,
Que proyectan el amor entre vosotros.
Aprecio tu voz, tu pelo, y tus dedos,
en ese mundo que proyecta las intenciones,
y me doy cuenta que te amo por los celos,
que he sentido en las diferentes situaciones.
Te amo en el día,
Te amo en la noche,
Te amo en los sueños.
Te amo al apreciarte tu imagen antes de dormir,
al despertar de nuevo y ver que sigues a un lado,
entre mis profundos sueños donde-no podría fingir,
y en el silencio, donde aún te sigo pensando.
Tan grande es este bello amor,
que invade sueños cuando duermo,
Y si hay algo que reitera el temor,
es despertar, y no mirarte de nuevo.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
He aprendido a apreciar tu divina voz,
Con el silencio interpretado de mis ojos,
Mientras duermo arrullado en los sueños,
Que proyectan el amor entre vosotros.
Aprecio tu voz, tu pelo, y tus dedos,
en ese mundo que proyecta las intenciones,
y me doy cuenta que te amo por los celos,
que he sentido en las diferentes situaciones.
Te amo en el día,
Te amo en la noche,
Te amo en los sueños.
Te amo al apreciarte tu imagen antes de dormir,
al despertar de nuevo y ver que sigues a un lado,
entre mis profundos sueños donde-no podría fingir,
y en el silencio, donde aún te sigo pensando.
Tan grande es este bello amor,
que invade sueños cuando duermo,
Y si hay algo que reitera el temor,
es despertar, y no mirarte de nuevo.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
The Dark Side of The Sun
With a prestigious awe to the magnificent star,
Resting in a space of the universe, -the sun-
Vividly witnessing shorted peace and longer war,
From time to time, until this old earth is gone.
But there is a story behind the goodness of light,
That not mortal knows better than this poet.
In beauty, the dark beast always lives in-side,
And all living nature will never know it.
The dark side of the sun in plentiful bloom,
Gives the alluring essence of good living.
Whilst many thought the evil beast - the full moon-
The dark presence of sunlight was riving.
In darkness, we know, the evil smears,
But in light, unexpectedly the evil appears.
The sun. The moon. The sky.
The how? How soon? The why!
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
The Dark Side of The Sun
With a prestigious awe to the magnificent star,
Resting in a space of the universe, -the sun-
Vividly witnessing shorted peace and longer war,
From time to time, until this old earth is gone.
But there is a story behind the goodness of light,
That not mortal knows better than this poet.
In beauty, the dark beast always lives in-side,
And all living nature will never know it.
The dark side of the sun in plentiful bloom,
Gives the alluring essence of good living.
Whilst many thought the evil beast - the full moon-
The dark presence of sunlight was riving.
In darkness, we know, the evil smears,
But in light, unexpectedly the evil appears.
The sun. The moon. The sky.
The how? How soon? The why!
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Portarretrato del Escritor
Es incuestionable el progreso de mi insaciable escritura,
pues la edad que tengo ahora, no es más la de un chaval.
Así como el tiempo ha inclinado la firmeza de mi cintura,
así me ha impulsado a escribir lo moderno con medieval.
No cabe duda que seguiré envejeciendo,
y mi cuerpo en algún tiempo doblaran rodillas.
Más en los vientos he decir sonriendo,
que mi pensamiento era lo que tu veías.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Es incuestionable el progreso de mi insaciable escritura,
pues la edad que tengo ahora, no es más la de un chaval.
Así como el tiempo ha inclinado la firmeza de mi cintura,
así me ha impulsado a escribir lo moderno con medieval.
No cabe duda que seguiré envejeciendo,
y mi cuerpo en algún tiempo doblaran rodillas.
Más en los vientos he decir sonriendo,
que mi pensamiento era lo que tu veías.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Volando en el Océano
Si con el pasar del tiempo,
Me respondes distinto,
Encogeré mis alas y,
volare contra el viento.
Sacudiré a los demonios
De la espiral de la muerte,
E incendiare el océano,
Para volver a abrazarte.
Volare en el espacio del agua,
En busca de la gigante ballena,
Sumergiré mi plumaje en fragua,
Hasta fundir mis deseos en cena.
Porque solo el roce de nuestros dedos,
Sujetaron vuestras almas perdidas,
El amor entre un mamífero de suelos,
Y el ilusionista de sueños sin vidas.
Pero, aun así, con un deseo ilógico,
Transitare por el mundo azul que describiste,
Y volare en el océano insólito,
Para recordarte al loco poeta, que conociste.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Si con el pasar del tiempo,
Me respondes distinto,
Encogeré mis alas y,
volare contra el viento.
Sacudiré a los demonios
De la espiral de la muerte,
E incendiare el océano,
Para volver a abrazarte.
Volare en el espacio del agua,
En busca de la gigante ballena,
Sumergiré mi plumaje en fragua,
Hasta fundir mis deseos en cena.
Porque solo el roce de nuestros dedos,
Sujetaron vuestras almas perdidas,
El amor entre un mamífero de suelos,
Y el ilusionista de sueños sin vidas.
Pero, aun así, con un deseo ilógico,
Transitare por el mundo azul que describiste,
Y volare en el océano insólito,
Para recordarte al loco poeta, que conociste.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Viento de Hielo
Tal es la brisa del invierno,
Que sigue al moreno calor de verano,
Extraño, pero es así como los pasados,
Se cruzan a medio día para recordar.
La nevada noche del hemisferio norte,
Lleva consigo un viento hacia al sur,
Desenfrenada brisa de un brote,
De montañas blancas y mar azul.
Sol y nieve entre risas cristalinas,
Disipando el frio hasta el suave calor.
Hoy, la fiebre, son palabras dichas
de caluroso estribó que recrean amor.
Las memorias, y el deseo,
De volar quizá hacia lo recordado,
Al ignorar que, en el mundo entero,
El viento de hielo es del pasado.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO
Tal es la brisa del invierno,
Que sigue al moreno calor de verano,
Extraño, pero es así como los pasados,
Se cruzan a medio día para recordar.
La nevada noche del hemisferio norte,
Lleva consigo un viento hacia al sur,
Desenfrenada brisa de un brote,
De montañas blancas y mar azul.
Sol y nieve entre risas cristalinas,
Disipando el frio hasta el suave calor.
Hoy, la fiebre, son palabras dichas
de caluroso estribó que recrean amor.
Las memorias, y el deseo,
De volar quizá hacia lo recordado,
Al ignorar que, en el mundo entero,
El viento de hielo es del pasado.
Joshi Villagomez
UP♤INICIO