Many times the soul would like to talk so let’s not assume what she thinks, would like to shout the truth that soul, carries in her womb so that we do not especulemos what they speculate how many times our silent would like to stop being silent, taking body and dress in polyglot and fill and leaves spaces with voices, screams and writings to tell us how human we arethe flat that we are to think, assume and speculate what we think, we assume and we speculate about it, maybe I would remind us that stupidity is a disease that only affects humans. Many times the soul cry your impotence show before us, become visible in these stupid eyes that we have and that does not help us to locate it though many do not look for in life in life we we journey between peaks and precipices, know the success and defeat, know of aurora and Zenith, that pleomorphism, gives an enigmatic complexion to life, but it would be monotonous and boring Solomon used to say that there are times of triumphs and there are times of defeat,… That there are times of joy and times of sadness, the wisdom of this King allowed him to distinguish these stages in the life of people deny it would be madness!, because it is the reality as well as it would be madness not to adapt to each stage is our survival! Man has this immense ability to regenerate silent tissue of his spirit! and some men have this vocation to express their stages, their feelings, thoughts sorrows, their anxieties, dreams in words! why is said that the word is the midwife of thought that is of those voices that are caged in the silent histology of the soul, the prosepoetry, literature, personal, they are voices intimate of each person, some have the virtue of making them very beautiful and they transcend, in others they remain as our inner voices, swamped in the personal limitations. All write not reading us for ever or for us to read by different parts of the Earth, many do it because they are impulses or needs, such as volcanos which expel lava!, soul expel verses the verses roll down slopes up to do nothing and be covered by the Earth, other verses are long-lived and survive above the Earth that are divinely beautiful and thats the explanation of these verses and these prose are like roses that marchitaran when the garden is desert, such as trills that silence when the Nightingale die, like splendor that darken when the sun sinks into the ocean, as voices that enmudeceran when my lips get together in the perigee..