by Emanuel Xavier

Your absence is the pillow used to cuddle at night, with you next to me,
as the moon watches over the despair of this darkness.
Distant and cold like the snow of mountains.
It is my cue to leave in the morning.
This rose, my heart, will not have sunlight to bloom here.
Tears will not provide enough rain to sustain this life.
Your demons revel in their fire.
Your songs lure another shipwrecked soul.
Your beauty disguises your myths, like religion.
Wars waged without necessity, out of fear.
What brought us to the tomb of this bed
was only meant to be a dramatic kiss,
hope between wounded soldiers on a stage.
I should have tasted the blood on your lips,
caught a glimpse of a deadbeat father in your eyes.
You shot with fair warning, celebrated your victory,
heroic in your justice of killing the child with stolen toy in hand.
I will not be meaningful enough to haunt you
beyond words and I will be forgotten.
It was not your duty to hold me in your arms
without holding back and, for this, I grant you atonement.
Like the morning sun, dreams were awakened by your light
and quickly faded as reality set back in.
There was loneliness and sadness, and you were the hope.
There was violence and pain, and you were the healing.
Others will undoubtedly drown in the sea of your emotions,
get lost in your conflicts; continue to be music for the masses.
Our time shared crossing this path was insignificant-
when you get to greener pastures,
enjoy the air, breeze against your skin.
I will perhaps be a story maybe worth sharing, nothing more

"Me No Habla With Acento"

Emanuel Xavier's picture

Last updated September 16, 2011