Geese!

Ophelia by Sir John Everett Millais

The river contain those white ones floating,
If I see them with other eyes, they are pretty
majestic, and pretentious, like the most desirable
dream, where you, like an angel, pose.

Their reflection reminds me of the days of dust,
the only and true feeling that it's real,
so little, so all, so humble and ready to be born,
slow and smooth like a cloud that just cross.

They come and they go, magnificent little whites,
with their feathers left to right, in an spiral
come to die; beautiful, danceable, in the sublime
act of compassion, they are resting on my grave.

If I listen carefully, the silence is their enemy,
the only and false sensation that is wrong,
with their wings up and down in disorder,
is abruptly tumbling, chopping the dream of Death.

Nadja Lopez (EtherSpes) ©Copyright