Now the silence is deafening
As if the drop of a pin
Could set the world on fire,
Though it seems it’s already drowning
In everyone’s own pyre.
In this desperate case of your God and mine
Yours is the better liar.
Have we emphasized enough
The ghosts at our door?
I’ve walked the streets often to know
That even the sky wants more.
The only relief any of us can find
Is the cold release
Of the cold floor.
But I’ve opened my eyes through the filter
To see beyond this insentient horizon
Of the critics’ minds and
I am of insouciance in the peak
Of their inquietude;
Casting a shadow of myself
And nothing else.