PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I could've been the solace that cures and transforms

alcohol into holy water

but no.

as a doll I sang what you played to me

your words: lies dressed in tinfoil

I was ash, I slept with a fire on my back head

secretly, guns sized as pins

aim at my heart.

I walk on the streets swinging as always

when rain comes I lay on trees awaiting to become bark

when wind comes I'm Ana and I bring you food

(here, this small heart, scared as a poult, eat it)

make me a nice looking grave as garden, tell me

that now

this is how is born out of me the most beautiful poem

that you'll whisper it to your women and they shall cry.

I took myself in my arms, I was sunk

turning all the lights down I prayed that big pieces of coating fell from the sky

that wild horses run through my hair

so I won't know anything

about the nothingness you are

the nothingness I was

and about this love as drifting sand in which I bustle

although I know that this

only hurry the burial.