As I undress my words,
the night expands within,
bringing your indefinite presence:
this presence felt but broken
when the faithful Moon listens
to the leaves.

What shall content those who
have nothing but the memory
of the rain washing away the stained
pavements of sorrow?

Here I stand,
anchored in this winter's call,
trying not think.
-why should I have to think?-
The eternity of nothingness shall complete me
while all my doubts lay under my hands.

What shall we learn if love
doesn't know it is love?
I should be prepared to suffer.
My crude defense sharpens
the blade:
If I have to suffer, may I be
my own torture, my own executioner.
The impact will be just a deafening silence.
Death never has anything to say.

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

1 comment:

  1. "What shall we learn if love
    doesn't know it is love?"....

    This is a profound question. It is deep and moving... and I have to answer with another question...
    "What if those being love can't define it for they don't know what love is?" ~ Selah.