Friday, 7 June 2013

Día Cimí

inside those eyes
the cloudy skies
whose salty rains
begins to cry

and as it falls
from face to grass
the air escapes
within a gasp

and no wind can blow away
these heavy scars that here remain
that only floods could drown and lay
slowly filling up the pain

and there's a body facing death
with no life in its breath
and a placid closed voice
that does not make any noise
but the sound of not to be
there's no longer man nor he

just a this box made of wood
carrying a corpse in a suit

outside there, suffering and sorrow
no more hope, and no tomorrow

but inside it, there is peace
and some rest for soul, at least

there is no storm
and there's no thunder
when you're buried
six feet under

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