Cortos

Después de estar ausente mucho tiempo por cuestiones barias vuelvo a centrarme en el blog para mejorar mi forma de expresarme vía escrita ya que la practica y la insistencia es lo que da a lugar al progreso en este sentido.
Estoy creando una serie de mini poemas con una fuerte carga emocional, que directamente o indirectamente se basan en experiencias propias o de personas afines a mí. Espero que al leerlos se sientan identificados en cierto modo ya que muchas veces la personificación de los versos es lo que transforma a un curioso en lector.

Brisa

La suave caricia de la brisa nocturna
Se desliza sobre su rostro humedecido por lágrimas
Ni la misma instancia melancolía acaba con su día,
Que no más que un puñado de falsas sonrisas de consuelo recibió
No basta con ponerse en el lugar de otro si ni el sabio por esa vía transito
Las cosas cambian, nunca hay una justificación viva de lo que realmente paso
Pero sin más pleonasmo ni dramatización, una niña cubierta en un manto
Sentada en el muelle, sofocada en su llanto, con su vida acabo
La virgen del lago desde las cercanías la llamo:
“ven joven nombrada desgracia, ven a limpiar tu dolor,
En la noche en que las luciérnagas se apaguen, dejara de latir tu corazón”
Ya no hay victima, ni culpable sin apelación, la vida humana es efímera
Si no se logra comprender el sentido de los sentimientos sobre la razón
El sol seco el agua, y un cañaveral eterno en el lugar floreció,
Pues el arrepentimiento no pudo salvarla, pero si lo pudo el amor.




ALEJANDRO SERRA© DERECHOS RESERVADOS

Vincent (por Tim Burton)

Vincent Malloy is seven years old
He’s always polite and does what he’s told
For a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cats
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats
There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented
And wander dark hallways, alone and tormented

Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum

He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie
So he and his horrible zombie dog
Could go searching for victims in the London fog

His thoughts, though, aren’t only of ghoulish crimes
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the times
While other kids read books like Go, Jane, Go!
Vincent’s favourite author is Edgar Allen Poe

One night, while reading a gruesome tale
He read a passage that made him turn pale

Such horrible news he could not survive
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive!
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed

His mother sent Vincent off to his room
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life
Alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife

While alone and insane encased in his tomb
Vincent’s mother burst suddenly into the room
She said: “If you want to, you can go out and play
It’s sunny outside, and a beautiful day”

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak
The years of isolation had made him quite weak
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen:
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again”
His mother said: “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead
These games that you play are all in your head
You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy
You’re not tormented or insane, you’re just a young boy
You’re seven years old and you are my son
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.

”Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall
And while Vincent backed slowly against the wall
The room started to swell, to shiver and creak
His horrid insanity had reached its peak

He saw Abercrombie, his zombie slave
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave
She spoke from her coffin and made ghoulish demands
While, through cracking walls, reached skeleton hands

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams
Swept his mad laughter to terrified screams!
To escape the madness, he reached for the door
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor

His voice was soft and very slow
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe:

“and my soul from out that shadow
that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted?
Nevermore…”




Fuente: http://www.timburtoncollective.com

Se vuelve enfermizo vivir en el ayer
Recordando tiempos que no van a volver
Prefiero despertar y ver el sol que hoy me ayuda seguir de pie
Ya no hay noche que me divierta tanto como las que pase con vos
Por eso cambio siempre de parecer
Y con mi sonrisa simulo estar feliz pero no lo estoy
Oculto tras esta coraza de rigidez
Un destrozado corazón
No volvería con vos ni aunque se apague el sol
Pero no negare que extraño los buenos tiempos en que éramos uno en dos
Y yo se que no volverías conmigo ni aunque no haya otro
Pero extrañas nuestra antigua relación
Por eso es que cuando nadie nos ve lloramos en un rincón
Ojala dios cambie el mal humor y la estupidez que un día nos separo
Y que mis celos y toda mi ambición se valla a otro lado
Ojala que dios cambie el egoísmo y la traición que un día nos destruyo
Y que tu frialdad se transforme en calor
Pero no pasara, ninguno cambiara,
Se que solo es un sueño
No te adaptaras a nada y no olvidaras tu orgullo
Ni aunque te obliguen no volverás conmigo
No me ablandare y no callare mi voz interior
Ni aunque me quieran matar, nunca volvería con vos.




ALEJANDRO SERRA© DERECHOS RESERVADOS