Wounds

Wounds…

Those broken parts of yesterday…
that we don’t cure,
that we did not heal,
that maybe, we never bandaged…

Masters of life,
to which to listen,
from which to learn,
to those who always
we should thank…

Wounds…

Boredom vacuums,
that fill us with chills…
in this absurd body,
that is not marked
more than of challenges…

Wastelands,
yours, mine,
those of these roses,
that dawned today
without his dew…