the distance
of things from my center
together with the dripping self
language rests as a drop
on a fatal slope
or a sound in frozen space
I have hands
but they never touch
anything
I have thoughts
but they never refer
to anything
and while I feel like cancer
growing on the insides
of my own soul;
I have bled beauty
like a suicide of god
there are areas of life
inaccessible and foreign
my flesh is ghostly
my feelings barely perceived
I am like a spark
engulfed in its luminosity
and everything beyond it
staggering darkness
in that incomprehensibility
I move and dying.
Hi, I would like to invite you to visit this new poetry website, http://www.world-poems.net
Help us to share your poetry :)
PS: You can also find us in the spanish version http://www.latino-poemas.net