Even Poets Lie

A brief recount of my last fall

neben-der-nacht:

II

Oh! Dear Infinity

When will you divorce your pain?

Don’t you see that there’s nothing sane

In bringing it always to my solitude?

This room, white as my expectations,

Veils that readable future for my eyes

And this poet’s heart

Stops beating with a slow elegy

For that youth in which I used to inhabit.

Oh! Dear Infinity of the souls…

Restrain your impetus at least

And let me breathe again

That air full of expectations,

Until my lungs darken

And my body dies with smiling lips.