PASSION

My love

I sit in my quiet chair

and my thoughts die.

This passion will be written

in my epitaph:

My flowers can’t fly and

I am here watching this gypsy dance

with dead roses dust upon my eyes.

My love

life  breathes and goes on

as I listen to this guitar, lamenting

my eyes and all those delicate things

I hid in my poems, in my perfumed pockets.

(I shall forget you, I shall forget my soul)

My little day, my unobservable tomorrow

weep, just weep.

Why is this love so wild?

Why is this love so deep?

Eros has punished me:

blind darts of death.

My love

I hold this wreath

crying without my eyes,

thrusting this knife again,

bleeding happily as I embrace

the wind and kiss the rain.

My love

I have nothing

but this hope, these memories

so hard to bear and understand.

Passion is a trap.

Passion is quicksand.

My love

You are my impossible him,

a blue angel dying within when

I have just myself and some tears

at night.

My love

I watch you

with sad eyes

while darkness does rise

and engulf me, lulling this deaf passion,

as time tells me another lie.

My love

This is my last vow.

I have loved you long,

I have loved you when I had

just the moon and this song.

My love

Why is it so difficult

to cross this garden and leave?

why are my drums silent?

Why is my flesh so naïve?

My love

I need no answers.

Let me listen to this song again,

Let me see the dance of my pain.

Karla Bardanza