By MARCO CAMILO MOJARES
Bathe in fluid made of mourning tears.
A window fogged, it’s never been clear.
A fragile glass separating me from the dead.
A cold heart beneath my cozy bed.
White fragrant flowers and white curtains around the room,
I never knew the color of purity was our doom. Surrounded by divine existence, it’s so immense
It’s like a holy light around my eye’s lens. Hypnotized by my own sleeping stare.
I was looking at all their hollow glares.
Sitting alone next to an empty chair,
A night that’s grim fully rare.
It was an imperfect and unexpected reap,
But it was silent enough for an eternal sleep.
Then the cold gave a warm embrace,
And the last breath left an amber trace.
Marco Camilo Mojares writes poems as a way to vent his feelings. Some of them ends up becoming a song. Aside from writing, he likes memes and loves music.