Poetry,
I hear you every time my heart beats...

Oh heavens high, where are you now?
I searched for you within the clouds...

I think.
I just think...

What if I told you that I miss you?
That I miss you like a car...

Bright, bright, stars,
that visit the sky with lights...

In a narrow corridor,
a hand with short nails...

Imagination, my dearest friend,
Ever since I met you when I was a child...

I was born in a land where Spanish was the ground...
And I, just like a tree who was moved to another...

When I was born, I may just have slept
between a bed with thorns and petals...

To write a story in free verse
is to let the prose in you go berserk...

We met on the internet while surfing the web
even though we were forewarned...

War, I rearranged your letters,
And I found out...