Like a theater stage.
Made with paint in front
of red curtains with cracks.
...
Where is the joy?
How did it forget us like this?
I was always a burning candle.
...
What do you need degrees for now?
When will we live after half a life?
You look high and awkward.
...
The sun hid from us.
Our horizon avoids us.
Why doesn't it draw indefinite lines?
...
Every brick and breath
to build the house.
Soul, sweat, a knife now sharp
every memory that hides in its guts.
Shadows and ghosts in every beautiful corner.
...
The degrees. Why do you want them now?
Sit and look at them,
so that more are born on the walls.
I threw mine away, and you were shouting.
...
No, I can't anymore.
I need air.
I want to live for a little.
Even as a beggar of the sun.
About the Creator
Manuel C.
I have been searching for my soul for years through writing, but I know that in the end, I will find it beside a river.
If you like my creations, leave a kind comment and I will gladly reply to you.
Comments (2)
Your words are very descriptive.
The image of the burning candle stayed with me. It feels like someone is slowly giving all of themselves while asking where the joy went. There’s a lot of honesty in this poem, especially in the last lines about wanting air and wanting to live, even as a beggar of the sun.