Sterile Love Poem by Felipe Gastão

Honey, sorry to insist in this matter, but the sterility of our love intrigues me. We are infertile seeds, who love and die without leaving traces. Humanity says it is a curse. But i really do not believe it anymore. I need not believe. The vain humans get terrified before their inexorable fate. Everything must end, and it will be not different with us. We will be swept of the the earth, perhaps by ourselves. When madness win, pain will be overrated, tears suffocated, evil outcast. Humans will cease their reproduction, and will desperately seek to create, in vain, perfect creatures who will kill them. We will leave traces pointing our greatness and misery to the new inhabitants, who will learn with us the cruel charm of paradoxes. All our art will impress them, especially when they come to know that we used to cry, and even die for love. Our disgusting and poisoned economic waste will horrify them, but they will realize how much we loved to live. Back to the issue, I feel the sterility of our love will bring us our great sorrows and joys. I will not have the opportunity to recognize my trait cast to yours in our son, Nor must I recognize your delightful genius in him. But not all is lost. Blessings, legal commitments, children, none of these means will hold us. Therefore, our love will not tolerate accommodation, boredom, or contempt. Sterile love is an end in itself. Nothing but mutual affection and charm will hold us. That is the charm of our cursed love. It will need to be be constantly reinvented, the routine will be our enemy, creativity, a vital gift. Sometimes, I am distressed before my limited imagination. I am terrified to think that one day you can drive me a bored look, which will cost the life of our cupid. You can do me everything, but please, I beg you to never make me feel drowsy!