Devastated crystal territory
covered with twisted rags
of wind
with straight jacket
that has sand in the pockets
times torned by the moaning
the broken branches of a crying tree
have their sighs uneased
When the inner boy talked
I knew it was you
who were crying
behind the global closet
where a lost star is having fun.
© Víctor Luis Henrriquez Tenorio
Heptagrama, the web summed up.
Some rights reserved.
Arts + Poetry
