Poetry as a release of emotions

by Karla

Remember when you said
there was a dream inside my eyes?
How many moons ago was it?
When was love a constant disorder?
Was it when a melody dissolved your eyes
in mine or when your flesh was my tears?

I am old.
I refuse to mourn happiness.

We bled more when our flowers hid from
the future and there was no medicine
to save me from the morning glories.

I am old.
The secrets of my past
were usurping by an old box
in my closet
and I am too weak to find our laughter
wrapped in crystal.

She is still crying in the cradle.
I am still frozen sitting against the footboard,
weeping and you...
I see you watching us under the binds
when the wind calls me and the spirit
of poetry seeks refuge in me.

I am old.
Too old to touch that closed wound again.

Karla Bardanza
http://asmoonsewsthesatinstars.blogspot.com
http://skycladatmidnight.tumblr.com