The
light arose
as foliage
bouquets of tender dawns
resting my head
on your breasts – hard as clouds
half asleep
chasing empty horizons
for the only flower
that droops its stem
to face the total stillness
of a silent earth.
mysticism
Prosopopoeia
My creator
has abandoned me
the hands that spun these
verses
are now caressing
night axioms and
mysticisms,
the poet left
me
a poem
sunken
somewhere lost
in the motions
of the automatic world,
I am the victim
a spirit
that occupies briefly
whatever soul
treads these words
but, alas
ultimately doomed
to perish
as your
eyes
approach
my final
sigh.
Joy of Participation
From the dark cloud
that was my death before my birth
From the impervious past
that is my womb
From nothingness void
that sprung my being
into this magnificent universe of light
As I awake
from the caverns of dreams
My eyes visit
a strange changing realm
Vision has kindled
the torch of nature´s stage
Amongst crowds, streets and trees
silent contemplation reveals
the daily world (of chats, smiles and meals)
as mysterious as death and the galaxies;
on this planet
repetition has blunt the miraculous
Frightening as it is
this irrepressible human world
never to forget
it belongs to a greater whole
Small is our size
but great our joy of participation
in this universe incomprehensible
