FRIENDS WHO DON'T READ

Friendship is found occasionally.
It's not made like bread in a bakery.
You take a hand and get up gently.
You listen to advice and follow it delicately.
You are born under the mantle of protection as should be.
The danger is ignored, laughing at the adventure. The Lord see.
It's an orgasm in fraternal embraces. Yes, fraternally.

I'm just another one of those boys building a sandcastle, just a castle,
while a sleeping poem is vilified, outraged, and gone out of the castle.

An old newspaper runs along the sidewalk. Joke grind.
Our reservations are carried away by the wind.
under the scorn of friends, as if they were absent of brain.
who neither listen nor read, only complain. Just complain.

What to do if a photographer of events like me
cannot help a bird fly, and in the sky be, as it should be,
when its wings have been broken suddenly and sadly,
by a slingshot stone, due to ignorance that doesn’t see.

There goes another poem. Nobody noticed. Nor cared.
Rereading an old newspaper is less painful nothing compared
than making some friends understand, I’ve declared,
all the musicality contained in a poem. They’re unprepared.

Friendship is found occasionally.
It's not made like bread in a bakery.
You take a hand and get up gently.
You listen to advice and follow it delicately.
You are born under the mantle of protection as should be.
The danger is ignored, laughing at the adventure. The Lord see.
It's an orgasm in fraternal embraces. Yes, fraternally.