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The waving
I’m here , you are there,
a vessel waving in our veins,
the hours that count my significant
life, the constant image of thee,
you! you are the title of my book,
of my memento, how I seek
thee in the little things I see
your face there in the body
of a grasshopper, a butterfly,
a nectar flower, any where
I look I see the endless of your
profound eyes, in the landscape
of my deserted life.
Where do you go and where do I look,
it is not that I worship thee
but that I need to live.
I’m dressed with the vision
of the bride to be in vain,
who told me I was his ,
I can lie all I want,
I can pretend all I want,
"why are you so vivid"?
I know is all an illusion,
theres nothing real there.
You are gone and I am here
trying to dismiss the fact
of your cruelness, the smell
of your last day in my true,
in my illusion, the fantasy
I created to replace the
pain that follows my aching body.
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