Your Fictions Become History

Author's note: I wrote this a while back, during the field trip, and never really liked how it came out. During the break, though, I looked at it some more and thought that I could revise it a bit to make it sound better. I liked this outcome a lot more than the other, so I decided to post it.

Thoughts rush

Soothing feeling

Yet so electrifying

The pencil twitching

The pace of words flowing

 Too swift for the hand to obey

Shattered reflections

Start to recollect

Creations coming together

As one

Poema Paralelo

Author's note: This is a parallel poem to Campo by Antonio Machado. I tried to copy how his lines sounded and somewhat relate them to what he was talking about, which was the country side during the night.

 

El sol se esta echando,

Escondido del la luna.

En la distancia sus rayos todavía tocan,

Las últimas flores en el otoño.

Asi también, esas pocas

Están dejando ir sus pétalos preciosos

¡Las ojas roja, verde y rosa..

Cayendo, una por una!

Cada pétalo es otra lágrima,

Bañado en el amor mas puro.

Original poem!

 La tarde está muriendo
como un hogar humilde que se apaga.

Allá, sobre los montes,
quedan algunas brasas.

Y ese árbol roto en el camino blanco
hace llorar de lástima.

¡Dos ramas en el tronco herido, y una
hoja marchita y negra en cada rama!

¿Lloras?... Entre los álamos de oro,
lejos, la sombra del amor te aguarda.

Chain of Social Evolution