Oh, the forgotten entities
buried beneath the cathedral,
the woods have turned into stones,
the stones feed the rotten roots of rust.
What side are you on?
What coat of arms has been etched
on your forehead?
Where is your flame?
I have none.
I breathe.
I eat.
I write.
I think.
I hesitate.
What side are you on?
What side was I on?
Oh, the adulterated purity of sin,
these fractured dreams
decaying amidst the splendor.
What I lost was just the soul
reflected in the mirror.
What I lost was the minute
that preceded the hour that
the clock never struck.
I have no flame,
just forsaken embers,
smoldering remembrances
of a time gone by.
© Ernesto González, 2009
2 comments:
Es muy hermoso y triste...gracias por compartirlo.
Sabes, todavía no podía creer lo del Herald. Pero entré y vi horrores, de verdad. No entiendo cómo pasan esas cosas cuando debe haber infinidad de correctores de estilo buscando trabajo. Es muy triste...pero, al contrario de tu poema, de hermoso no tiene nada.
Muy bueno el poema.
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