… “Para que nada nos separe, que nada nos una”…

the misguided patriarch of night

the misguided patriarch of night

no ancient relic could hold this hue
run through with loss,
mounted as a morbid monument to darkness

ravaged by wind,
rain,
the seasons

swaying in time,
precarious,
so uncertain

permanent grief keeps these memories hanging
and i wonder;
what have i hung with mournful wire?

it’s too tragic to believe that only sadness lasts
love must plant its roots
and grow immovable

so i’m dropping seeds in foreign soil
to sprout in the light of every tomorrow
that i will not see

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