Oh moon, full with pride,
Strolling through the sky at night...

On Christmas times, the stores become like church:
Too crowded, full of prayers, and of songs...

"No more.
I won't let this conversation...

God sees the heart of man
like an emptied jar of glass...

In an empty desk with a burning mesh,
wax drips like thorns...

I have not repeated myself as much as before...
When I wrote, the repetition seemed to repeat...

Oh mother gracious!
What is this...

Our love were weeds just growing strong with time
in fields that people often dare not walked...

You were fire? No, you were water.
And in you, I dove...

Bouncing like a ball
on hallway while mother shops...

Should I compose a sonnet just for you?
You are a judge who's tired of reading them...

I Wanna be gone where humility
And humbleness exists...