The Most Quiet One

old-letters-436501_1920The last one standing in the crowd.

The one who doesn’t like the music oh-so-loud.

The one who wishes, whispers, moves, and changes.

The one who breathes within and rearranges.

The one who gathers the crumbs and feeds the birds by the lake.

The one who never mistrusts or assumes.

The one who lets the bird out of its cage.

The one unafraid to suffer or pay the prices of living so boldly.

The one who hears the bells and climbs all the way up the stairs.

The one who is dancing in silence.

The one who knows you will hurt and he will be there.

The one who will gather you in your arms as if you are leaves.

The one who will transmit through your palms light beams…

***

I deserved the pain, God.

I deserved every single scratch and bruise, and loss.

I deserved it all.

Now I trust.

 

 

 

Typewriters

He took the typewriter from the trash

and sold it,

unaware that he would meet her.

It seems I only told the truth

about what I have lived

to the strangers,

wanders, explorers, warriors,

and possibly some souls in danger.

They had nothing to gain, nothing to lose.

I never once told it to the ones that claimed they love me.

And I turned my head to the Sun,

hoping when it will fall behind the hill as slowly as it should.

You and me, we type, every single day we type

until someday… the typewriters disappear

and we can dance into their light.

James Vincent McMorrow – We Don’t Eat

volcanoes-2767838_1920

 

Letters of Purity

dancer-2602775_1920To you I seem light on the outside, I know.

Dancing and swirling,

frivolous, beautiful, good.

You underline all these words happily,

sitting softly in the clouds of your heart.

My beloved,

you don’t know all the storms which have passed.

Do you?

You didn’t hear the sadness of the guitars,

that didn’t arrive

or how I broke all the strings of attachment,

nor the blissful dying of all that I was.

You didn’t know how many times

I remained all alone,

till I started loving reclusion

more than this room full of people and songs.

I was demolished, and scratched, broken in two,

penetrated with the wounds of this world.

And I barely survived

in a vast sea of voices,

when in truth

I hoping to hear

the most quiet one.