Saint Love

Benedictum Est!Saint Love posed his hands on mine
and ripped out all my clothes
without special attention
my inner thighs , my hair
all wrapped in a scent of cigarette

and carelessness

touched by a saint kiss
my breast my hips
every night as a clock

I wanted to ask if that is forever
As all Saints say YES

when the time would stop
before fiery love consume on me

But Saint Love shut out my mouth
with saint hands
~tied me up~
and all started again

until my tears and supplications
~kneeling over him~
were just past tense

The Witch

Now i know…. after read and reread the messages
I discovered that my fear is to be rejected

Not dont to be loved. But Rejection.
In many ways…
You know that first of me …
you raised the veil … The veil of Isis

I think i fear too much in life
the darkness with silence
where i can see and hear
the place they want to lure me

I am a damned machine
A Damned X ray machine
that never was awake for this
that never could accept it

But always running

I can predict the future of them
i can see what they did
And what they really want
the lies, the hate….
when they are gentle

and i can understand why

But it is a cursed life
stare your son on his eyes and see
what is the next step or how to flee
inside a boyfriend`s eyes
and see the tiny light, trembling
with weak efforts

They say I am your friend
and the machine starts
to pull out the truth

Featured image

I Know … secretly … but i cant tell
and i can`t believe on me
If i believe i`ll never love anyone anymore
on this beautiful world
Because it is… And that sounds so huge above me

This is a perfect World Poetess

but my love is short
and when happens it opens
a wounds on others
my vision is long
my mouth always closed

I just need close my eyes

after all this vision that you gave me
and dont see anymore from anyone
and knowing from the deep of my heart
that i am a damned witch

“Dead Asleep”

Mirna Morgan:


Originally posted on "Through My Eyes":

Dead Asleep - ©

As I lay here, on my bed,
Wide awake, but yet asleep.

On the floor,
An apple core,
An open door,
There is no more.

All alone, within my room,
A window sill, a door it creaks.
Am I dreaming, I’m awake,
Just lying here, a top my sheets?

There screams a crow,
Along a shore,
No one knows,
Why no more.

A lonely trail,
A line of trees,
A lizards tail,
And winter breeze.

A single bike,
An empty town,
A moonlit night,
Nowhere a sound.

In the distance, rings a bell,
Pulling me, from in my sleep.
A rippling creek, a river bank,
A mountain top, a flock of sheep.

In my head,
There it’s said,
With this thread,
Your soul I’ll shed.

A feather falls, a candles’ lit,
A blinding light, A soothing heat.
There again, a voice it says,
Make no mistake, it’s what you reap.

View original 41 more words

The Wood – The begining

She had a body as a fairy  and lived  there for all her life….

Surround by trees…. Trees so so dark and tal that she almost could see the sun… So… She is habituated with shadows that compose all her world… And shadows, we know, they are not so simple…  they are the pure darkest…. With silent moves, whispers , deep lake … the mist… That terrified her  but not anymore….

She deal very good with this sensations and more  growing in her chest… Corrupted still… mind and soul…Mujer gótica en el bosque

You only could crave something if you know or if you see… A person…  a thing…. And she never desired anything because the wood  were inside her … And the wood gave to her all that she needs… since now…

A  dangerous eagerness to talk, to touch and be touched intensify inside her…. A fever… A thirst  … appeased by her hands… Sometimes hurting herself but satiated ….. She don’t know what  bruises is … even  why her discolored skin…  but only the end of the desire… complete, total….

She starts to create something or someone as a company

…  she saw  herself in mirrored puddles…

First the feet ~needing  to see  more~

As she  crawl and bend over

Creeping and begin

In my middle please in my middle …

They find her … and gave to her a dress

the first view, the first sight of herself

in a mirror…..

The light, the sun

burning her eyes and niveous skin


drawing a path in a man’s body

taken to the woods

Now… She talks

~he took me to wander into dark night~
i thought…one more effort….

along the way he asked me
thou hast innocent eyes?

in silent walking… the rustle of my petticoats announcing


still…leading me to wander into a dark wood
despite all dangerous signs

along the way he asked me
thou hast hidden desires?

in silent i was

yes…hidden desires…

but the treacherous moon arises

catching me in surprise
a glimpse of me appears

bringing light to his blurry eyes….

astonishment and fright

in both hearts….

touching the blue vein with smooth fingers
a delight  ~finishing my pain~

drowning an endless thirst
no time for answers still

my fangs, hands, body on him
Muscle stiffness ~deep breath~


let me finish with you quickly
thou need that and i too

~he took me to wander into dark night~

An Armored Man

an armored man bought  a bread
a french bread … a sliced bread
starving as you are… you have to eat
pure… enjoying the salt
that it’ll give you the life
another night the same man
buy the same bread to you
and your thoughts guiding you to a remembrance
when you had
something more than a salted piece of bread
on your table
and you see yourself
alone… aloneBread

One Noisy Poem to a painful heart

i slammed the door

fleeting for them

cleck cleck cleck

{{{bam}}} {{{ bam}}}}
one click…. a- Ha…

I sat on my delicious chair

tinny sounds

ding ding ding

to every move

i closed the book

buff….so soft…


The crowd runs to me again

knocking knocking
toc toc toc…bum

I shouted
“Not Now”

my head aches


what is that sound?
not a sound but a rhythm
a trumpet, a trumpet on my mind
ratata…ratata….the poet is angry

Oh My God… that hurts….

everything hurts

deep in the poet’s heart

Now I am angry

losing my temper

and start to speak with myself
bla bla bla bla bla
walking as a crazy
clack clack…clacking

thinking…..having great ideas


I SHOUTED….please!!!!

just so i know
some moments in my life

when in pain….

they are a onomatopoeia

Dear Sylvia

Dear Sylvia
So you know….as we were talking days ago
i was interrupted by the time
so short between us

I tried as you tried…one, two and three
Be happy it is not for poets

I dont give up and i think you don’t gave up also
You just was carved in marble…

I had no time to look and say goodby

But lies above …as a shadow , as a cloud…
Full of rain, and lightnings….heavy
Mixed with my feelings
As a second identity of me
was good…
You… a ghost living at the third floor
Of my unconsciousness

I like bees…the hum …you know
Bees are so so fat and noisily fun
But not a box of bee
They are dangerous and they aren’t for us

I discovered through you
We try because of others
When we absorve the others shadows
Becoming dark …their darkness melted in us

So many wishes… who is the owner?
becoming a reflection of their desires
constant splashes on the river bank
The mirrors know
But must be a place
to hide …maybe to rest

and i ask to myself if there has not room
without solitude, without cold

And no heaven, no hell
at least… not a shortcut… nothing so fast

Sylvia Plath

maybe God will build
a silent spot… you’ll sit, i’ll sit
to watch….silence and move

as you see my dear friend
I am  trying  as you tried


be happy…it is not for poets