Won´t I Panic in a Pit Now?

by Luis Ullán
(Salamanca (Spain))

She prays on the corrupt pew
of a devastated temple with hanged lovers.
It´s a heavy wooden cradle of sinners,
a bag of rotten, unreal wishes,
as a silent bombshell in the closet
playing hide and seek
while winter runs away from the disaster;
and tickling hours come after me.

It´s like a subtle practical joke,
a ruse for the crucified observer
spoiled by the non-believers,
waiting for the condemned to repent,
as his realm falls all over again.

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