terça-feira, 14 de janeiro de 2020
𝐸𝑙𝑎 𝑠𝑜́ 𝑒́ 𝑒𝑙𝑎...
❝𝐸𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑙.
𝑁𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑙.
𝐸𝑙𝑎 𝑠𝑜́ 𝑒́ 𝑒𝑙𝑎,
𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠,
𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑗𝑜𝑠,
𝑑𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑠,
𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠,
𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑠.❞
𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑎 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒̂𝑎.
Pᥱqᥙᥱᥒᥲs ᥣoᥙᥴᥙrᥲs!!
❝Pᥲrᥲ torᥒᥲr ᥲ rᥱᥲᥣιdᥲdᥱ sᥙρortᥲ́vᥱᥣ, todos tᥱmos dᥱ ᥴᥙᥣtιvᥲr ᥱm ᥒós ᥴᥱrtᥲs ρᥱqᥙᥱᥒᥲs ᥣoᥙᥴᥙrᥲs.❞
Mᥲrᥴᥱᥣ Proᥙst.
𝚅𝙾𝙻𝚃𝙴𝙸... 💕
O Poema da Volta.
𝑉𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑒́ 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑟. 𝑁𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑒 𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎.
(𝐽𝑜𝑠𝑒́ 𝐴𝑚𝑒́𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝐴𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑑𝑎, 𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑐̧𝑎, 𝐴 𝐵𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎)
𝑁𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝘩𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎,
𝑜 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜́𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑜
𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑒: 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑒.
𝐴𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎
𝑔𝑎𝑛𝘩𝑎𝑚 𝑣𝑖𝑐̧𝑜
𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑟𝑎̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑎,
𝑢𝑚 𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎̃𝑜,
𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎,
𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎,
𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜,
𝑢𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑜
𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜,
𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑎̃𝑜.
𝐸𝑚 𝐼́𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑎, 𝑃𝑒𝑛𝑒́𝑙𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑒
𝑡𝑜𝑎𝑙𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑡𝑒,
𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑜
𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐̧𝑜́𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜.
𝑁𝑎̃𝑜 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠
𝑛𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑙𝘩𝑜 𝑣𝑎̃𝑜
𝑛𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑎
𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟.
𝑈𝑚 𝑥𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑠
𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠
𝑝𝑢𝑥𝑎𝑚 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑟𝑎
𝑓𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜-𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟
𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑜̃𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟
𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎,
𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑒̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑣𝑎̃.
𝑉𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑚
𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒:
𝑐𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑎̀ 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑟
𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎̃𝑜𝑠 𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎,
𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑐̧𝑎𝑟
𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑚 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑜,
𝑢𝑚 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑜 𝑎 𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟,
𝑢𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑐̧𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑟,
𝑢𝑚 𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑎𝑟.
𝑉𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑜𝑟
𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑧
𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑢𝑚 𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒́,
𝑢𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑜 𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑎̃𝑜
𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑎̃𝑜
𝑑𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑜́ 𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑔𝑎
𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑜,
𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑚 𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑎
𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑥𝑎̃𝑜 𝑖𝑚𝑜́𝑣𝑒𝑙,
𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑎,
𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑐̧𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜,
𝑠𝑜́ 𝑝𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟
𝑐𝑎𝑐𝑜 𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑐𝑜,
𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑜 𝑎 𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑜,
𝑡𝑜𝑐𝑜 𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑐𝑜.
𝐴𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑚 𝑠𝑎̃𝑜
𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝘩𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎:
𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑜 𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑜,
𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑎́𝑔𝑜𝑎 𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑎.
𝑃𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎
𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑒.
𝑁𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎
𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑠𝑜́ 𝑝𝑒𝑑𝑒.
𝐸 𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎
𝑠𝑜́ 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎̃𝑜
𝑑𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎̃𝑜.
𝐽𝑂𝑆𝐸́ 𝑁𝐸̂𝑈𝑀𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐸 𝑃𝐼𝑁𝑇𝑂.
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