Quiet bitterness lending away silence to the stars
Taciturn whispers carried further than the wind
Wished it had
Where moments take hold of inspiration,
Never has God thought distant galaxies could seem
So sad

Within it all there’s nothing but empty
An ever stretching precipice
So deep, anchored,
Wisdom can be found here trying to crawl itself
To the truth
To a light unfathomed and disconcerting

In these hallowlands,
Souls have no reason to be
Where time comes to die
Where heaven tries to cry

In these stagnantworlds,
Skies have no horizon
Where clouds drift and would not be seen again
Where the breeze feels so cold and lonely

Perhaps we mourn for the wrong reasons
At funerals
Not knowing that in departing,
They are going to a much more painful place
Where reality doesn’t want them
And the imagination does not exist...

Copyright © Juan Antonìo Thomas, 2005