I forsook the careless sun.

The fire can't be replenished.

The night crept up again

as delusion vanished.

Laying near the window,

I gaze at the bitter trees crying flowers.

Stupefied, my soul does sink

in uncomfortable hours.

I have little charity for my defects.

Life has to be a solemn twilight,

a vow of everlasting transformation,

if possible a poetical delight.

It is with some fear and acceptance

that I shall embrace winter darkness

as the paling moonlight still cries

in this moment of me with my madness.

I fear not the state of suspense,

neither the accidents of fate.

What scares me is self-pity,

the woman crying at my gate.

She is the shadow I avoid,

the barren tree crying for rain,

the unquestioned voice lost within

when past is written in pain.

I rise, feeling my shivering body.

The blizzard almost blinds me.

I just wipe my tears mechanically.

What will be, will be.

Karla Bardanza

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