Synopsis "My Heart, my pen and my muse have fun: Poetry"
The heart is the engine of all our healthy desires as every morning at the end of the wildest dreams of happiness after the night and the troubles; attributable to the delirious pleasures of the flesh, trapped in unhealthy desires of our own thought, inclined at all times to the gaping hole of the stupidity of animal nature which squats like a cat the fragile and permeable surroundings of our silly reason.Blameworthy, stubborn, mercenary, even suicidal; reason wearies, without respite, our heart to lead us, head down, to the burning sun of our desires; where the vices take, as good usurpers in the heart struck by the beauty of the evil, the royal place of the primal virtues of the divine nature. And the man then becomes that madman who, in the street, speaks without needing to be listened to; walk without knowing where his steps lead him; stop and look - perplexed - the toad making fun of the creeping worm, while he thinks he is the handsome prince of the land he governs in small jumps, he who does not know himself stupid, and jumps into a bucket of water that our madman hands him, to make him skin.Fortunately, a beautiful dove arrives brul-de-point and coos, in her beautiful voice, a melody that tickles the heart of the madman of life; who was on the point of cruelly attacking our poor pedantic toad, and struggling to reach the end of his world peopled by people of his petty sort; who crooks - to break the tympanums of the altruistic artists of this heart that sings here; while the muse has fun and the feather dances on this white track soon blackened with words, going in all directions dictated by the melodious rhythm of this symphony of my heart which invites you to the delight of the nectar gathered, for you at heart of the flower of rhyme.If beauty had a face, it would marry the heart whose goodness is the best of all the philters of love that can stand up to all the charms of nature, things and beings on bitter mother earth; when the galley sorrows the muse, the beautiful silent lover who knowstickle like a cat, the male who has a heart ache. Now, a heart is made to sustain life; to generate good and share love across the planet. This planet - where; after dinosaurs and australopitheceans of old without heart; wishing to deserve from heaven the conquest of nature, beautiful and modest, to subdue it and subjugate it without faith or law - which rather opened his heart to the prince of words with his hunt-evils: the poet; the lover of life; the rhetorician whose pen is a sign in modern and classical letters, here the coronation of the cadence that makes dance and the words and the past, present and eager to pack in chorus the hearts of readers drunk with happiness.My heart lives in a word planetKissing words intersect and follow each otherIn a festive atmosphere where the good and the beautifulDance in my head on fire that sketches a dodgeAs soon as the sad or evil thought approachesWaiting for a great idea to come backTo share with the humankind that hurtsAs long as she is now inclined to cultivate hatredMy heart to save humanity in danger and distressCalled to the heroic work his beautiful and tender mistressMy muse who was happy with this beautiful challenge ranWithout being further prayed because long heldOn the way she winks at a soul mateMy pen who was bored of idleness for lack of toilJumped like a spring on the opportunity to take the leadConvoy to conquer all sensitive heartsWho had lost the smile that brings back the irresistible poetWith its seductive word games make it our party!
