the heat that's tearing up my skin appears to be
infinitely more ravenous between the teeth
of a gilded cage;
why was the weakest hunter blessed
with the gift of reason in speech?
does a sparrow not deserve the sky
because its tongue is merely a melody?
I cringe and wince at the sight
of a reality I almost always conceal:
the locks belong to the beast
and the master patiently waits to perish
behind six rows of tamed spears.
such laughter,such haste,a bargain
ready to be made at all times
with the soul of a teary-eyed creature
on the line!
my smiles and awe portray a rotten image
of misguided fascination:
one does not contemplate a spiritual massacre,
one acts by means of rebellion!
but how to silence the conclusion of everyday life?
how do I now tell my heart to forget
those prisons under the sun?
oblivion does not bury the truth
nor does it resurrect a lost past.