Motherless silences,
Foraging virtues in mountains too high for heaven’s reach
In places too fond of the way time despairingly speaks

Forsaken plentitude,
In search of rain the truth befalls
On hearts no longer able to be still,
In the ways of passions,
Of unbelievable rage, love and determination
Corroding to nothing as the clouds collapse
Seeing birds fly away without a purpose
With a wind no longer freeing
And an air no longer worth breathing

Petulant disenchantment,
Bellowing fanciful echoes in the eternity of hours
Forgetting entirely of the will to live
Responding quietly to the motions attributed
In every aspect of what’s mean to be

Knowing nothing,
Of what all the void has created
More mysterious than a view of the sky
Right before night closes in,
More concealing than the calm waves of the deepest ocean,
Stretching out into a never-ending transition of space

A weaving of life,
Particulars of undesired understandings
Attempting to become intimate in order to feel real

Encircling metaphors,
Abstracting elements of our existence
Through vagueness and pictures too ideal
Killing slowly reasoning in our minds
Wanting fervently
Pleading privately
Thinking silently
Of why we are alive....

Copyright © Juan Antonìo Thomas, 2005