Who defines the weariness That weighs upon the spirit? Which of vicious fears insist That nobody will hear it? Where exists the tyrant's keep Where sorrow gluts its penchant? Who can penetrate so deep, And who will strike in vengeance? What within me cried for you? What permeable passage Gaped my heart to slide you through Where nothing else could manage? Where in you may I explore, And what could I make happen? How can I help you endure All aspiration's absence? Who can tell the dreaded day, And who foresees its malice? Who forestalls its wrathful way From deep depression's palace? On that day who will defend The soul against its peril? What external could contend To make the sickness sterile? Looking from the outside in, What cry could make an entrance? When you paint your doubt as sin, You leave slim hope for penance. Who can pierce the solitude Of self or lift the mask to Kiss the truest soul imbued; If not me, who, I ask, who?
A place for my poems 