Life is experiencing death
with the eyes wide open.
A candle
sheds light
only while is burning,
nothing can be without diminishing.
Death is like a crack on the windshield of our cars
that expands and expands,
The spider
braids its web
scattering in and out of our eyes
that widens and widens,
spreading like roots
upon our flesh and skin.
Experience furrows through our forehead,
munching on our flesh, our concretion,
rumpling our innocence.
Dusts inhume us
and turn us to frames with inconspicuous
image of once a young man.
Rust
corrodes our mirrors.
Corrosion expands and sprinkle
on our bones, our teeth,
on the mudguard of our forbearance.
Life is the ultimate headsman,
a festering wound, the final axe,
a dagger that is destined and paved
to intersect our hearts,
a distance
in which we learn the horizon,
a chance to impregnate space whit journeys,
roads with destinations,
the deserts with oases,
and pave roads
to fulgent vistas,
a distance
in which we learn we must go
in order to stay, in order to spread our roots
to preponderate and evaporate
in the same time.
Life is a voice between two silences,
a bridge between two deaths,
a staircase that we built with our sweat,
to drill through the heights with the pinnacles of our aims,
to repudiate the distances
between us and our beloveds.
Life is a marble we chisel with our torments,
the road that we pave with our youth.
We burnish our beauty
to mirror our souls,
our inner juvenescence,
to awoke everlasting.
a ground we penetrate and spread
to blossom from within,
to strew our discernment
versus
our death,
strewing in our bones.
to return,
to recall the
real us
like a seed that reminisces blossoms.
