Independence

They had all brought their lives to this point, a sign of

their unexpressed joy undoubtedly dreamy sweetness

yet now just before their end, they wished to let go of

their lives: didn’t want to bury it with their cadaver so

they threw the four nails forged by the blacksmith and

the tree limb they used to make the cross they returned

to its source. They were the days of unblemished light

which fell upon wishes fresh and virginal, the crucifixion

was postponed but don’t worry for people’s laughter

they can’t cry anymore. They’ve been born,

they’ve reached their end, and they never learned neither

purpose nor meaning.

I like those who stand over the gaping mouth

of the Abyss and in an exalted way cry out: I’m not

afraid.

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