There is nothing in the world equal to poets.

They will always be eternal, between absinthe and horchata.

With all their sins confessed.

Without paying for their crimes of loving without being loved.

Eternal travelers in all the centuries of the centuries.

Captains of their stone ships,
without victories but without fear of fear.

Delirious hearts, trembling, without walls.

Warriors of a thousand combats in non-existent wars.

Surrounded by imaginary worlds, what make them, spear, bow and arrow.

For them the sky is a diaper,
and a butterfly is the love that corrupts their soul.

No blue blood, no red blood, no blood, only perpetual love, nothing more.

The faded tailcoat, the short frock coat, the hat rotated by the years gone.

The broken sword, the bent back, is the shy poet of his own shadow.

In him the night becomes eternal, between wine and absenteeism, between kisses and saddlebags to keep the time.

The images that illustrate this poetic text are free to use, they are taken from PIXABAY

My poetry is not based on any rule, in fact I have never studied forms of poetic expression, I only express my feelings, my experience and what I see and in my daily walk, I relate what I write with my pictorial work and I think that life without creation is a very simple life, art in all its expressions is a form of encouragement, a food for the soul every day.

Antonio Evies, Venezuelan painter, sculptor, writer, poet and crypto-artist, university professor, researcher of new plastic languages and advisor to the project. Art for all.

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