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Where is the silence? How did we lose it?  
There is no stillness in the shadows, only memories
of the helix dance the waves winded up.
Ashen is the color of the sea that
sweeps the footprints left on the golden sand.
 
Only grief- bitten nights remain, still curious
about the luminous once rainbows gone,
like the fragrance of a kiss scrubbed with
rigor and all the honeyed letters left behind.
 
And everything lies behind us,
drums and guitars howling in Portuguese,
bodies, jasmine- oiled and soaked in
pseudo mist of worship, and the days
dangling between twilight and sunrise.
As if the sky has chosen to be a forever fugitive,
avoiding the interrogation with the clouds,
until ambitions collapse with the drops of cold rain
and let nothingness inside every trembling soul.
 
That’s why time burns like paraffin
and the idea of digging deep into the new horizon
thaws the blood in the veins, cloaking the trails
to nauseously incomplete decisions and desires.
That’s why my verse to you was late,
the words I banded together into agonizing lines
fell insignificant into the abyss of poetry meant
for another heart, just like fibers of broken sparkles,
just like yesterday’s light loosing its infinite beat in doubt …
 
©2014, B. T., All rights reserved
 
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