The Search

The poet seeks verses incessantly
even if the freshness of his feather begins to weight.
His words float empty like plastic bags,
they reflect the tangency if the empty mind,
searching words that never appear in a cold head.
The vague thoughts transfigure themselves in dead letters in a deep of a lake.
A forced rhyme,often tired,makes fall f the conscious tired letters.
Appeals to the Baroque,full of hyperbole.
Nevertheless, nothing in his head boils.

"Back then to the past", said a voice insinde himself, "Back to the Classicism."
the thinker do this without stubbornness.
In the classical poetry he finds the stronghold of his small inspiration:
simple clarity, beauty, rationalism and sobriety, nothing so complex as figures of speech.
But the simple verse makes grow his monotony one more time, affects him a bigger nostalgia.
He´s bleak, a poet without words is like a bird without wings.
How did this happen? The byricism decied to disappear?
Where is the trova? Where is the old satire of before?
Ahead a light, here comes a clarity. Isn´t the light of the Enlightenment, but is the rival of the pessimism,
the usual sentimentality of Romantic poetry.

Nothing as exaggerated subjectivism, either a Byronism degenerated
but from the romantic prose a Realism in love!
Walking by te genres, the I-lyrical finds
the romance that makes him inspired from a enfatizante way.
He is excited by his inspiration; his muses are the most beatyfull,
his heroism wins wars,
in his country are never darkness!
But his feet are in the ground, takes scenes as his vision, showing for everybody his real perception.
Finally find what was searching,
the same inspiration of the birds singing.