The Mist of Sacred Pain

by Luis Ullán
(Salamanca, Spain)

I´m so afraid
of discovering your little sins buried here
in the place where you
swore eternal love to me.

On my cards I have a burning spade,
an old dethroned king
to make your ace cry like a babe;
but you think there´s no tomorrow for me.

“In the mist of sacred pain
happiness is on my side again”, I sing,
but sorrow comes
painting a queen of hearts,
ripping the grace of my arms
and ending the game.
“You won”, I cried.

Time wasn't the weapon
that made all this love disappear,
and for all these memories I swear
I won´t let you go, my dear.

Now, as years gone by,
I realise flames were never as real
as the unhealed wounds
the sun made on my inked skin.
Understand that pain was not a choice,
at least for me.

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