Night Note 212

Poem By Michael P. McParland

¿Qué son las palabras
si no son lagrimas del poeta
que pelea por la vida
con lo mas preciado.
sus versos y su mente.

Benditas son las palabras
que expresan lo que
mi alma no puede.
Como la lagrima de un niño
o la lluvia del cielo.

Benditas son las palabras
que matan mi alma;
solo para revivirla
en el siguiente verso.

Benditas son las palabras,
que purifican mi alma
como el río de las montañas.

Benditas son las palabras,
que se vuelven el escudo de mi alma
cuando falsos profetas
vienen a quitarme la vida.

Comments about Night Note 212

I wrote this poem in a period of my life when people tried to impose a rigid regime of 'no freedom of expression' and I fought against the system, at the beginning I was failing, until I realized that I spent more time fighting than expressing myself and that's when things began to change.

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Other poems of MCPARLAND

I Call Your Name In The Night

I call your name in the night
Hoping, mercy will be granted on this soul
And you will come to me.

El Amor No Es Real

¿Qué eres, si no el reflejo de mis sueños?
Será por eso que tan inalcanzable te volviste.
Con ansia espero el día de conocerte.
Con ansia espero pasar mi mano por tu delicado rostro


The poet speaks beyond his words
The poet writes in rhythmic verse
To which he feels true.

My Teacher

The dead poet sat at my side.
His breath inspired my pen
And his presence inspired deadly themes.


Every thought revolves around you
I don't understand
what keeps us in different routes.
Why are you not bold enough to ask


Aphrodite promised your return on Beltane
I hang to her words with the last hope
Love can give.
Spring is still young