To have nothing or be nothing?
the way my own tears caress and ebb
in this yawning serenity of mine,
as if it were trying to get rid
of solemn dreams where my vows are
conflicts between each spaces of eye contact
the waves made with the shore and how
her eyelashes are like violin strings
making music out of the law of love
that the people of good fortune once broke,
an injury to the skin is much faster to heal
than an injury to the heart.
I was trying to learn how to drink wine
with holy French men, witnessing the
ageless values of patience and oaths,
a song that i sing once more.
I'm no saint to name every distorted truth
that has ever happened, because
'A mystery is then the blindness of the intellect,
which does not consider that which it sees first
and without which it can know nothing.'
An open letter to Satan: I know, and we all know,
your own plans could murder you and
the reproduction of our languages to
which we chose God after
curtains of temptation,
the word 'pray' is always
present in my past lessons,
how it condenses into a holy bath
as if they were trying
me to give me
a warning that i might
be stabbed purposely with pride
and enjoy the pain.
No, i am not worthy being a
missionary able to explore
the eyelids of the abyss,
but, i am able to own
this thoughtless faith of mine,
drenched in the lost gems
of my sufferings.
©sarah_
J