In the girl was a violence

In the girl was a violence,
a century of hungers
that she often lulled to sleep.
Then, one by one,
from her open chest,
came red balloons,
fears I burst with
the sharp edge of my
She entrusted these things to me,
for a purpose I
would never discover.
In the soul of the woman,
the child’s despair was
never outgrown.
With her,
I would always be child too,
I would know the
indescribable lightness,
diving head first
from the flaming rocks
into an unrelenting


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s