mifael llauderes Poems

One can count the stones
But not the ripples…the
Echoes of ones conduct
...

Even The rain

Is fair and
...

Reaching far for
The topmost branch
A delicate hand labors
For the fruit of her want
...

An old man boils his
Soup, he’s no other source of
Warmth…but his own arms
...

..a beauty smothered
While it’s trying to breathe
Somehow do through
The pores of the
...

A stalk produces a dripping sap
When freshly cut
And it does not when healed
Much like a poet
...

I am a feather
Light as the air
I will rest
On open palm…still and calm
...

Firm are my feet
On My ground
While you
Take wing
...

We do seek
Some times
The empty
...