poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

   La guitarra,
hace llorar a los sueños.
El sollozo de las almas
perdidas,
se escapa por su boca
redonda.
Y como la tarántula
teje una gran estrella
para cazar suspiros,
que flotan en su negro 
aljibe de madera.

Added: 2 Dec 2001 | Last Read: 30 Sep 2026 4:34 PM | Viewed: 7702 times

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