Dead Flowers
written by: Francisco Bravo Cabrera
I have often met your spirit…
A ghost, a phantom or a misty memory
that lingers through the years,
that shapes and forms the salty tears
of sleepless nights
in darkened rooms
filled with shadows…
I have often heard your voice…
A whisper in the breeze, a howl, an angry cry
that shatters the peace of summer afternoons
on sunny lakes and soft green grass,
with darkened visions of
dead flowers,
creating shadows…
I have often felt your icy touch…
A lingering kiss, a caress or nails ripping through the skin
on knife long fingers,
forming abstract shapes in warm, red blood,
in darkened rooms
filled with longings…
Dead flowers fill the space before me,
laughing at the sun…
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Sometimes the unknown fills us with dread, fear, anxiety, and sometimes it kills us.
I am from Valencia, Spain.
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