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1994-02-01
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3KB
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107 lines
December 13, 1987
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The light flickered, withered and died.
The candle warmth, cooled and froze.
And I stood there, ready, and wrote.
What else was there to do?
A few lines stood up, wilted,
couldn't stand the weight
of their lousy rhyme,
and were shot...
right out of the pen
into a white piece of paper
which allows you to read
mesmerized, maybe
even think
that I meant something...
which mattered...
and you cared...
ahh, but I know you,
your glutonous and gifted will,
that makes you wonder,
what am I
Who am I
...
I know.
A mirror of my image,
or perhaps another,
image in my own mirror.
whatever difference...except,
that I am not afraid to look
and see...
You...
As you stand there naked,
with soul against your wall,
you mean nothing to me,
but,
I must write
for you,
and about you.
The light flickered, withered and the pen died.
And I realized that I was here
with a bullet near my poor head
waiting for a blessing, a tear
before it hit me, n' I awoke, dead.
I woke up from another dream
realizing the role of a poet
who wished not to escape,
and lead a new life
somewhat afraid.
I've always wanted to die.
And have done so in my dreams.
Ohh, but that fear
of what... monsters of the deep,
no, simple ignorances of the mind.
Devils from a loud hellish place,
no, illusions please unwind.
Damned allusions, fires from within,
yes, maybe a few clouds yet live
waiting, waiting...
But I sat there, I wrote a dream
I think of times when I was lean
of inside tremors
but I had you for hope and fervour
the eternal love kept me, mon amour.
At that time my pen kept me alive
when all else failed, and thrived
into worlds beyond appearances
forever into many distances.
As I love you
and always will
you will hear all this
humbly
and I accepted my penance
for perjury,
of the spirit...
ahhh, but what peace I had.
I will stand trial by the pen
of unforgiving souls of men
who refuse to acknowledge my life
and defy the love of my only wife.
To her, whenever, if ever,
I dedicate this soul
Written by a simple pen
and piece of paper
while the candle warmth
flickered a little
then went out,
and the air cooled
and then, slowly, froze,
me to sleep,
...
but what sleep.
- Pedro Sena