IF I broke the memory of my name
let me not betray moments of now
or of that history yet born.
How thoughts are indiscreet
or alters when alteration finds,
how hope in light never dies
O no! How powerful is reason
and that of a look upon tempest
never shaken; how that poison
of a first kiss is always a step
into the most beautifully broken
dream — and all souls whose
worth in unknown height that many
hope — is a star inside Heaven
How love is never time of fools
but how youth and belief becomes
brief hours and weeks and years
until a day comes when a torn
broken soul remembers those
errors of life that came home.
:: 04.03.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 