Poetry

In despair, 
beyond-pain, I will watch my dreams 
in rimless eyes of wet faces. 
 
The lake had been sending back 
the white and black shrouds 
everyday. 
 
They were jumping one by one 
old and young, 
from the twisted planks 
holding geraniums. 
 
A warm prayer on the lips, 
what was left worth enduring? 
The innocence, the guilt, the shame? 
 
Clinging to bloody lumps of happiness 
who is going to have a last laugh? 
Time is breathing gloom, 
body is attached to a pole.