The Falcons
The falcons glide out of my heart,
Sipping my last crimson water and indigo tears.
Soar to the empty world, very ravenous,
They yearn to taste the fiery heat of skies.
The falcons dance their Tango.
Flapping wings in joy, fliting with the woeful soil,
Never know when to end;
Hymns of winter, audible as they sing.
The falcons, on holy ground,
Piecing eyes through the curtain to greet the angels.
Their blazing eyes glitter navy blue,
Their souls, serene, a cold sea.
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