THE BREATH OF LOST DAYS
She was there, the wilted flower of a day gone by,
Hair in disarray, and eyes tender,
He spoke of her with passion, like one speaks of an innocent fool,
Hands trembling from having loved her blindly.
Time slipped away, a faithful companion to taciturn distress,
The sky weighed heavy, like a sullen memory,
Forever engraved on the chains of his penance.
Tears slid between each sigh of his solitude.
What remained of them were the scars of abandonment and desolation.
Blasphemies flew, fragile, clumsy,
Like ashes carried on the sturdy back of a loquacious wind,
They collided with those crumbling walls of silence.
And in a desert of sadness, amidst the mockery,
Love remained silent, discreet and cold,
Beneath a shroud of morbid regrets.
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