El Árbol sobre la Colina

Bringing back the forgotten flowers to Reality

In fragments

Published by Olalla Gabrielle under , , , on 19:48


Write in white my mind
Tell me how, tell me how
Stories and origins of the mind
Let the ink cross my hand
Alas! Do not let it dry.
My days, they go by gallows songs
Today by you, on the morrow, on the go...

And I cry a wordless litany
For those instants crossing my way
Breaking my embrace, cleansing my slate.
And then, my voice is reduced
To the empty, skilful words of my eyes
Rapid reconstructions of fragments
Some groundless, artificial, corrupted
Others, broken into silence.
And then, my spirit forgets the solace
Of the justice found in truth
Captured in the commodity of the isolation.

The sweetness of touching many walls,
Yet breathing nothing in.

26 February 2017


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