THEN COMES THIS THOUGHT

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