pardon for my grammar...

South Lake Tale

I miss that good old time,

When I walked by unknown streets

Feeling that ,to others, I was the not known,

And the street was just the same.

I miss that good old time,

When my friend was only I,

And that cigarette pack that so glad

I paid 10 dollars on.

I miss that good old time,

When nothing more on me seemed to stop by,

But the worry to don´t find

A way to the parking lot.

And to think that by the time I stepped back,

In the streets that for me were the same,

Everybody saw me the same ( bigger, perhaps),

But I had that feeling that for me, I was the not known.

Gabriel Riva

Mais do mesmo

Mariposa (Duty)

Sonhava muito porque pouco vivia,
e a cada atrocidade vivenciada,
mais em sonhos se entretinha.
A cada sonho, menos sentido viver fazia.

Se perguntando: Viver sem sonhos?
Melhor morrer, dizia.
Eram tantos sonhos em tantos contos,
que poucos planos detinha.

Devaneando, perdeu o ponto,
tempo adentro, foi esquecendo que existia.
E assim, pensou um dia: “Se eu pulasse, será que voaria?”

No chão, carne concreto sangue
lágrimas de raiva e culpa
promessas e xingamentos.

Voa alto mariposa, até o firmamento!
Olha só, quem diria! Que sua alma,
belas asas teria!

Gabriel Riva