Poetry as a release of emotions

Painting by Marguarita Georgiadis

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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