Wednesday, May 30, 2012

MAY "Dark Year of the Penguin"

the wild flowers, the nameless,
were your last recourse,
the labyrinth where you used to hide,
where you slept late,
children followed you,
you only heard bells and colors,
you spoke of pink animals,
and shipwrecks,
(the children listened in silence)
one day: the door was steel,
when they returned for you, the cell was empty
they only found a flower,
a small one,
that they could not understand