She searches for her tracks in words blown in the wind,

embroidering her steps carelessly, just she with herself.

Something in her soul wants the benefit of doubt, a

possible magic, maybe a Being-There.

There is a crazy voice in the air,

there are torn moons in this insane

quest for what transcends and defeats her,

Something opens a new door, something is

an unanswered question.

Her fate has no hands, her eyes were gouged out

as she tried to see her own darkness, her steps are

immersed in delirium and blood.

She sees through this one who surprises

and dwells in her mind though. Maze inside,

she is beyond any control.

Incompleteness, pieces of her dreams scattered somewhere,

her weak human condition sees what is over the edge

as her meaning craves for coherence. She is lost in

language. She is a metaphor.

Karla Bardanza

1 comment:

  1. "She is lost in language, she is a metaphor".... This whole poem does read like a metaphor. I take the meaning of it that in our insanity we gain sanity through our words. They heal us and make us whole. Enjoyed! tc