Lucas lived the life next to Marina by long sixty years. One summer, Luke went into the spirit world, months later, Mariana feeling lonely and uninvolved, she also died.

Arriving in the sky. She searched for her husband for days, and when she found him under a shade of acacia, she sighed. Lucas found him. He smiled with a face full of doubts, looked into her eyes and soon, went saying: Marina, it was lonely, until death do you part. This has already occurred, let me there.

Jackson - Alexia father, waiting at the school, had decided to talk about her daughter’s sadness after school. Alexia in the car, puts the belt and he perceives the clear face of crying of the daughter. I instructed her no more. Daughter, love that charges many nights in clear, many tears on the face or pain, is not love. This is subjugation of the other and back to the routine. How was your class?

Alexia to her father explains, I left the room screaming, to be my end of solitude, Gwendoline want to help me. She said, do not believe my problem is solitude. I noticed, she’s been friends for years and I’ve never been to visit her. When you get home, will you call the orphanage so I can go there this afternoon?

Jackson with arched eyebrows, light blue suit and endless creativity, tries not to hurt his daughter. Alexia, visiting Suzanna or Caroline, is not the same as visiting the home of the orphans. There everything has time! Let’s see, says the father.

At home, Alexia goes straight to the bedroom, before climbing the stairs to the floor of the room, hugs her father and asks her to call him to the Orphans, and he says, I’m going to eat only one snack, one natural orange juice not transgenic, I will not have lunch. Let’s see, Alexia! Answer him.

Exactly an hour later, thoughtful Jackson knocks on his daughter’s door. Come on Alexia, we should get there in twenty minutes, you can talk to your friend for an hour. She turns off the switch room, looks lightly at her grandmother’s picture frame, runs her hand through the book of Semaphore’s Philosopher, and heads toward her destination.

The silver virtus facing the Children’s House, the old-style construction with the walls with peeling paint, points out disillusionment. At that time, Alexia snapped her fingers thinking about the years, in which, she might have come.

Jackson lets his daughter in. Already at the reception, Gwendoline was standing, the two are hugging, strong. The inmate takes her friend to the patio where there are other children - they chatter with each other. Adoption!.

Sitting on a blue wooden bench, Gwendoline advances. Let’s talk about loneliness? Remember that jewel-case of the secret friend I won from Luciano? Alexia speaks euphorically. You took it too.

Gwendoline smiling from the corner of her mouth, she says. He’s been my only company. Here we do not even have the arbitrary choice to turn off the night light switch. Go see the street, leave. Only with the orphanage monitor. This is solitude, for full freedom is not there. Already the pretensions of love, you can choose. Forget Adamastor, he does not respect her and, I’m sure, you will suffer and look there if it does not hit you.

I decided to forget him, she imagined, woman picking up a man, my mother, attending a case a day in the hospital. Let’s talk about good things, I’ll visit you more often, you will not only have the solitary dancer and to give her days with a light blue, I’ll ask my mother to ask you to leave for my house once a month. OK?

Yes. He has the work of sociology to write on the subject of violence. I take advantage of and speak of violence against women. Could it be, Alexia? Answer, Gwendoline. Yes, they play with the younger children at the orphanage.

Eric Costa e Silva

A poem poem what is in your soul

A single word as you enter your day

It may be the incentive he needs

To navigate the feelings about poetry.

Poetry walks by the boats

In the light of the lighthouse, in the mountains

At the bus stop of simple people

She’s even in the school’s instructions.

To bring forth a poetry

In his daily life the poet navigates

To perceive the whole world

Who walks by your steps.

Poetizing is living in bonds of a time

To observe without forgetting to live the life we must

Who observes lives the life with more sense

To observe is an experimental living.

Poetry that leads to ecstasy

One day you were alone.

Under the mantle of the poet’s soul.

When the birds in the corner say

Sweet word does not tell me

Just wait for the purity of the path

Let the words look at each other again.

A poem poem what is in your soul

He knows how to read the parts

Which show traces of your happiness today.

Do not tell me? Yes, I say.

Yesterday’s words

Now it’s true

Thank you, be happy.

#poetry

1 - Poets

By Eric Costa e Silva

The poets are left with intense wings

In the eternal dream the world of words

Always dynamic in the eyes of all.

They fit the daily sweats

Where your roses fill the voids

Of the most variable itinerant human vicissitudes

They! Fine common souls

All worthy of the art in feeling on the skin.

Poets are builders

From their poetry emanates realities

Whether they are real or abstract

Ah! You’re with your smells.

Always touch the diversities

Of the thousand and one immaculate senses.

The poet points poem poetry

And they... Poets, ah! Poets

From one side of the horizon to the other

In the deep waters of perception they always navigate.

Each drop of letter on paper

The firm temp (l) ideals form columns

Behind them the simple beings of heart

There they form houses.

Poets never die

Just go on trips beyond bodies

On this day they just stop conceiving the leaves.

Even traveling into the unknown

Poets still move lives and spaces

Through his work

Always quiet on the shelf

Waiting for someone to flip through.

In every leaf of your creativity

In our eyes, we can feel a new season

In every corner of the mind

A way to perceive the World

Poets... All the poets... Who one day understands them

They never fail to visit them.

2- The poetry

A poem poem what is in your soul

A single word as you enter your day

It may be the incentive he needs

To navigate the feelings about poetry.

Poetry walks by the boats

In the light of the lighthouse, in the mountains

At the bus stop of simple people

She's even in the school's instructions.

To bring forth a poetry

In his daily life the poet navigates

To perceive the whole world

Who walks by your steps.

Poetizing is living in bonds of a time

To observe without forgetting to live the life we must

Who observes lives the life with more sense

To observe is an experimental living.

Poetry that leads to ecstasy

One day you were alone.

Under the mantle of the poet's soul.

When the birds in the corner say

Sweet word does not tell me

Just wait for the purity of the path

Let the words look at each other again.

A poem poem what is in your soul

He knows how to read the parts

Which show traces of your happiness today.

Do not tell me? Yes, I say.

Yesterday's words

Now it's true

Thank you, be happy.

On here! Away from everything and everyone in my bedroom, no bigger than their attics. I returned my being, so far for you, unknown, close to a scientific observatory journey from a Brazil, only known for football, caipirinha and carnival. Ah! Let’s not forget Rodrigo Santoro, perfect in the three-hundredth feature that both rejoiced the Greeks and Trojans.

In his hands, an old pen, drafts in white, fluttered cheers between the corridors of the soul and reason. There! Physics, literature, poetry, all in cobwebs spattered like pickles.

As each formula in number jumps from mind to paper, in my eyes, I could see flowering in small plants, Isabel’s face. A Woman who steps briefly walked into a class at Harvard, a woman whose fear of the new, still makes me, not to have it on the same roof.

Without any advanced technology, blessing to aid in the pursuit of research, I left obstacles there. I continued each one of the accounts and gotten the certainty of nailing the gavel to earthquake locations all over the globe.

By the ways and infiltrations of the networks in little-known notebooks, as well as, in the voice of Mark Elliot Zuckerberg echoed present my discovery. So! Clack! Clack! I pointed out a great earthquake to reach the American territory, besides Capital Washington, would soon be all taken by the waters.

The television from the small room with its hisses, announced at the top of its lungs, a science of the north of the compass. Higher! An entire Nation, the minds I learned to admire from the corridors of the most advanced Universities, affirmed the erroneous fragility of the elaborate considerations.

The days were fading by the hourglass of waiting, but with the hearts of each of the notes, given in earthquakes, now really happening, everything was heading towards a conclusion. But the oval hall of the White House and its trustee Donald Trump screamed, none of this will happen. We are superiors!

But the flood filled the whole city, flooding the Capital Washington, a surprise for some, a truth already told to others. And Chief Commander Trump in announcing, declares Brazil superior in the interim of research.

The news, wins the television stations only in a very brief note. In response, the poet, writer, researcher and journalist is emphatic in denying the title, because for him, superiority hurts the precepts of a possible dialogue.

However, there is only something superior to everything and this is the love of one’s neighbor and to the one who has made him stand firmly in this daily work. Superior are the senses and feelings nourished by the search agent for the beautiful Isabel.

However, the lack of equipment, almost no gain in the daily life of this thinker could be obstacles to leave everything aside and today, he already walks the streets of the neighborhood where he resides, saying: I nominate for the popular Nobel of Geosciences 2018!