poem - © Jesús Montero
Minutes scratch the seconds
Out of the midnight hours.
Life at her worst.
Yet again.
Too many thorns
And not enough flowers.
Minutes scratch the seconds
Out of the midnight hours.
Death comes to knock,
On a door
That dreams
Should have kept quiet.
Minutes scratch the seconds
Out of the midnight hours.
Black starless skies.
Not a soul.
Nothing.
All is deafening quiet.
poem - © Jesús Montero
