Verbi Potens Sacra Est : Sobs and Songs of My Years

Poetry for peace is the scorching pen That erases the pain The broken pieces collector that solidifies harmony between Men The beguiling potion that tastes like venom The hand of a poet is the only hand That erases the bad things through unwavering words To allow the soft words to sound marvelous. The poet's anger is the only wrath that procures peace. The only troublesome endeavor that keeps hope alive The poet's criticism is the only remedy that hurts and heals The only remarkable remedy that hurts first to heal after. The poet deranges the status quo to arrange the institutionalized anarchy Denounces the pretense to announce the advent of the brotherhood parade. Only the poet, to parody the Haitian eclectic Etzer Vilaire, &quote;Writes for all those that are tormented by life's dramas and all other problems of human's destiny&quote;.