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Oh you, who are more
More than us,
We the myriad.
Born to ourselves, shading us.
Oh you, who are more
And you say that I talk too much,
I am amoral and I speak of solitude
From the result, Nacl +, life they give me
Base of nothing and everything else.
For I hear nothing of the allegation
That, after all, with your scope,
You make me happy.
Category: fake.
Never a truth would make.
Where am I not inform you
That is the basis of being the I deform,
Because everything is polysemy,
And you give me these days
And absorb my simple joys
Returning Mephistophelic Poetry
Written without being,
At the turn of uncertainties
In the valley of the faculties,
Crushed, tortured and imprisoned.
Cognitive abilities wounded, surrounded.
(the proposal of the Day 17/11/2020 and of Miguel Torga, Diário, 1973, first pages)
