There were things I saw

There were things I saw and could barely describe,

shadows upon shadows rolling down the corridor.

There were words written on the wall,

the essence of which I did not grasp.

There were voices, too,

but they were distant and weak,

like echoes of echoes, sound-reflecting mirrors,

hardly audible.

There were things I saw and could barely describe,

glass shattered on the floor, like forsaken pearls,

perished souls, sprinkles of a dry imagination,

battles of a dream, the remnants of some formidable war.

There were things I saw and could barely describe.

Then I wrote this poem, closed my eyes,

finished that book, walked quietly into the end of despair.

© Ernesto González, 2009