WHEN the love of her hand held me in dying bliss
the pain of my loss! flew all history’s winter
until I heard a bird i dreamed i could sing
but nowhere within her voice was the cardinal in snow:
the sweetest saddest joy of her voice and the least than a wish;
particle of a whole infinite, who is life?
The primary universe fraught with great peril; war, plague,
famine and natural disasters so common
and Death come to use all love is a fourth dimension
of Time in a stable constant, but never impenetrable
as when a tangent Universe occurs those laughing, saying
happy birthday are at the epicenter of a dangerous new
world and teacher tell me what’s my lesson:
“the Manipulated Dead
of an Ensured Trap
births new universes.
:: 10262015 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 