Agony
Your agony pierces
the cracked wooden base
of Earth and hovers over
your ethereal forehead where
all human humdrum turns
into celestial.
Your agony I taste
as I sit on the chair you
once sat.
In the chromatic aura of
the devout room I sense
your heartfelt desire for divinity
on the velvety canvas where
you gave birth to all perfection
I smell your passion
on the devotional palette
a witness to your fiery enthusiasm
to position man next to angels
I detect your torment.
Your desire to turn man
into the cherubic essence
of the spiritual I sense.
I feel your inspiration
your devotion and your piety
I smell in the vaporous air
of your room, in the fleshless
images on the canvas,
your passion I endure.
What an overwhelming sweet
warmth in the arms of life
like a thunderous return to
the everlasting roots of our island.
Libros Libertad 