Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Then comes this thought
(or is it a desire?)
and takes over
and fills the empty hallways
of contentment.
Oh, what a wicked hand
it turns out to be.
I see these dead stones
rolling, gathering dirt
and abandoned dreams.
I listen to the buried bulbs.
I smell flowers filled
with disgraced wisdom.
Enough, I have heard enough.
Let me have a minute of anticipated silence.
Let me enter these whispering terrors
by myself, nervously at ease.
Let me enter this thought.
Let me fulfill her desire.

© Ernesto G., 2012

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