Melt in their eternal sleep, of Jose García Millán
white open roads in the days that
offered devoid of future,
no bright colors to distinguish them.
For waves of cold air, sound
songs of all winter solstices,
when men are afraid of the dark
and pretend to be guileless and blessed,
as if the world does not drag the
sentence to be cruel to all his creatures.
metaphorical death is celebrated light
with the birth perennial desired goodness.
preached peace between rare meats,
gestures become sweet, angelic even
but the unwritten law anywhere
and printed with fire in the hearts of humans
us back to barbarism and desolation
black the phenomena that distinguish us
through all the centuries of our history.
seraphic choirs sing the necessary hope,
but our souls will soon indigestion purity.
is our fate, is our path and our path,
our indelible mark and more accurate.
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This entry is also published on the blog my friend Andres Rueda , who I have discovered the excellent painting of Joseph.
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