DEATH

Something of Death

Oh days, oh birds, wait, wait, for this is my heart still stumbling over the slopes, its feet made of snow, and its eyes the remains of a copper voice searching for something of death.

I searched for a long time everywhere my fingers could reach, I searched for my gray color, and I also searched for my hidden veins, but I did not find an image of myself.  Maybe I'm tainted to the point of blindness. I must find my purity in order to see the image of the person I know, who longs for a free death. I am really sorry now, because I was not able to do that, because I know that life has a smile that cannot be seen except through that beloved death.

I stand here every day like a bird of distant islands. I stand as a stranger listening to that voice; The voice of my heart. Yes, I am standing here waiting for my pure soul to return; I wait for my life every day in the hope that I will die.