L.F. dos Santos - Distracted Thoughts

and ignore the crazy looks that crave for nailing their despicable

fingers in your rosy sweet and delicate essence.

My eyes rise and fall with the cadence of your movements

and you are spinning into the future, rotating to kiss the air of

my stupefaction.

You will soon leave the puzzle to denude into the safety of my

embrace.

Freezing moments inspiring Poets

to dictate its prose, wearing this ancestral veil

the poets embody a mellowed spirit

that guide them through poignant interpretations.

Line after line written on silk parchment

eternal testimonies offering its prose encroaching,

clearing the tender state of the perpetual bond

that enslaves the mind of the free spirit.

This eternal invisible veil crimsoned eloquence

glorified, extended to the horizon

exposing the motherly lap of nature,

the womb of all living creatures.

A mystery that lies in the core of a concealed fascination

life spreads itself everywhere germinating in a flurry

extending its roots, its tentacles to provide nourishment

from the rulers of the day, the soil, the water and the radiant

veil.

The night is radiance illuminated by the veil

reflected through the white bright orb

giving the wolves time to release their wavering howls

barking, howling, whispering to the moon.

Offering ancient wisdom through the winds

the night is a stage full of remarkable musicians

a symphony of sounds, an unusual orchestra

howling, chirping, and warbling to pay homage to the full

moon.

The rotation will be soon concluded

a new phase is willing to cherish the sun is veil,

a new day preludes uncoiling routines

refreshed from a restful night sleep.

Memories, feelings, substance

neither inanimate nor dull.

Sublimely unscripted

by the owner of the skull.

Roads travelled full

of danger, despair.

Battling the barbarian

insolent is air.

An altruist philosopher

a soldier, a lover, a human.

A poet of the humble

a legendary guardian.

Expressing tolerance

in the empathy of a task.

Stanzas scribed in books,

illusionary thoughts to mask.

The treasure was his muse,

the map showed the plan.

No gold silver or tokens

only a tiny name inscribed, Joan.

Heartbeat racing

beguiled by the folly.

I craved for tasting

the juicy flavour

of her scarlet blurred lips.

A soft ephemeral breeze

caresses her nude sanctuary

mellowed by refined thoughts

her physical state was delightful

confined in the milieu

the sound of the surf levitates her senses

the smoothness of the refined sand

a prelude of a heavenly womb

a day that flourishes to be perfect

adorned with bliss.

The road is thorny and severe

she tempts to hold her mind focussed

bustling around.

Gabbing some excuses.

Tomorrow will be the same,

like the ant type genesis

every pheromone trails

leads to an accurate target.

People rush every single day

stress feeds nerves, consumes tolerance.

Stop lamenting,

routine is not a bad thing,

weeping around in every edge

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