Remember when
you said
there was a
dream inside my eyes?
How many
moons ago was it?
When was
love a constant disorder?
Was it when
a melody dissolved your eyes
in mine or
when your flesh was my tears?
I am old.
I refuse to
mourn happiness.
We bled
more when our flowers hid from
the future
and there was no medicine
to save me
from the morning glories.
I am old.
The secrets
of my past
were usurping
by an old box
in my
closet
and I am
too weak to find our laughter
wrapped in
crystal.
She is
still crying in the cradle.
I am still frozen
sitting against the footboard,
weeping and
you…
I see you
watching us under the binds
when the
wind calls me and the spirit
of poetry
seeks refuge in me.
I am old.
Too old to
touch that closed wound again.
Karla
Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012
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