"The winter burn" [poetry]
Fuente
The memory rushes like a picture on the willing face
before the faint fall of the snowflakes.
Winter leaves a deep burn on the skin.
The lacerating wound of the conceived point
it reaches pains that border on madness.
Not in vain, the path of men on earth
it is carried out between their bloody veins
as bifurcated branches through the different faces of history
in the young body of Gaia
if it is compared to the age of the stars.
Where does the path on the snowy mantle lead?
Towards a unique and delicate name as those snowflakes are.
The names are the strokes of men, demons, and gods.
They are that breath left by the memory
in the everlasting travel of space-time
being the only thing that really refuses to be forgotten.
This post has been voted on from MSP3K courtesy of @isaria from the Minnow Support Project ( @minnowsupport ).
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