Don't go. Stay.
The night is deeper
when your voice remains inside my voice
and our eyes stare at
demons stalking, stealthy,
in the middle of the mist.
Don't go. Stay.
Why should we give in to the day's rose
this territory opened by dint
of dark thorns?
What remains after absconding?
Where are those who used to come,
the jaws opened, roaring the veins,
upon an ocean of words
made of flesh and blood?
Don't go. Stay.
See how painful is the silence
more than this shrillness
of dead voices,
fading every entrance
clogged by so many
flowers dried as death.
Don't go. Stay.
And they will know the heaven
can burn despite the rain,
despite the cold,
despite so much word
spilled meaningless ,
spilled,
meaningless,
of so much word
without a voice
to hold it up.
