THE UNDYING LOVE (DRAFTS, UNSENT - OBLIVION FOLDER)

Words, words, so many of them,
buried alive on the drafts limbo
and other nowhere lands,
so tired of dying a million tiny deaths

Who could read now the spells
of your wrinkled, agonizying souls?

Misplaced, soulless sketches
of nothing, shadows or embers or flames
diseased words, damaged
at birth, exhausted messengers who must die

Words, sleeping the seamless dream
of nothingness,
some so irreversibly ill, or patiently
degrading under the adverse rain of time gone

All of them, papers who gladly would have
offered their dusty paper life
to sing your forever song, to burn
in the glorious bonfire of your love

Numbed ink, voiceless stains
unsent drafts, the forgotten, the forever-lost,
those aborted on the grounds
of being plain stupid, witless
uninspired, undeserving

All of them broken, misshapen
misspelt mismatched misguided,
mediocre, poor, half-dead already
before being born

And yet, all of them in a row,

revealing with unconfessable,

alarming precision

my stubborn,

              undying

                        love

(And the rest, thereafter,
will be silence, if it must)