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