una rosa rota

manchada
desgarrada

susurra a la luna

de un jardín
una herida

una tierna primavera

expuesta

___

 

a broken rose

stained
edges worn

whispers to the moon

of a garden
a wound
a tender spring
exposed

___

 

camino bello
del sol y del río
entre hojas moradas
música y miel
hay rosas doradas
una lluvia fiel

___

 

memory is slow to repair

it moves towards the other
knowing full well
there is nobody there

___

 

la garganta me duele
las palabras no salen
no tienen a donde ir
no saben qué decir
___
 
amor
conocido
desconocido
caminaré contigo
liberando mis miedos
dejando mis huellas
en las manos
de mareas
escucharé
al mar
___
 
infinity sleeps in your eyes
while time rests its wings
and love grows quiet
gardens in the rain
___
 
fragile extensions of her being weaved the colours of seasons into reasons to go
___
 
it's cold again
the days pass
the hours go by
your words are gone
and the sun is warm
in the morning
___
 

la ausencia no existe
en los recuerdos imaginarios
solo existe el ascenso del silencio

diciéndome soltar

___

 

while you drowned
in the sound of the rain 
I soaked in bright colours
walked through mud puddles
wet gleaming traffic lights
smiling

___

 

inhaling your wild words
is a surge of excitement

a lie lies on every note

___

 

hilos de luz
tan finas
más frágiles
caen aquí
es mojado
el oscuro
no es frío
donde respiro
los recuerdos de ti

 

___

 

what happens
if the silence turns around
and the quiet in the walls
falls through the cracks
and I laugh again

___

 

there is a journey in me

still and constant

longing to be

in the light

of old souls

in the company

of those

who have learned

to walk slow

___

 

ashes of permanence

are buried in my being

in all the memories
I forget

___

 

dreams pull me in 

to the other side 

of broken

where wings

and fragile limbs

quiver

frightened

by the echos

we don’t comprehend

until we see it’s love

that pulled us in

___

 

I see the storm will steer me down that road where wild screams are split in two

___

 

immutable desire
waiting in circles
unseen she goes round
she goes round in circles

___

 

One Sunday I remember sharing a way of seeing the world written on a napkin imagining your map of stories drawn on fine paper wings. It made me smile to think of travelling against wind with sad bears, old cats, imaginary friends and things.

___

 

half alone
half here
there
somewhere
hidden, written
in bitter poetry
untold

___

 

Beauty weighted against the ache of nothingness is fading gracefully. My body, an elegant scar of flesh fused to memory, gives way to its weary ghosts. Signs of light and lightness seep through the lines to the living,  dying. I see my corpse amidst the shadows, quietly ablaze.

___

 

in this aching cold
my tears roll
slow

___

 

your tired feathers
broken
fell

to the greys of old
the dust
the cold