A poem for the lambs

It's too late to clean the stains
on the window or darn the holes
for our eyes adjust to the dark.

The voice was soft but she still fears it
even though she has learnt the motion
of planets and how to curl time at night
when the tides of the past swirl in and on,
dragging her to ignored depths.

Her eyes were exhausted before
she could understand, digested and
metabolized everything but
who knows what she feels as
she transforms herself in a metaphor.

Silence and times execute what
was planned for she wasn't consulted
about fate.
And when she sees into
another lamb as they see out of her,
she hides words under her tongue.

Karla Bardanza
http://asmoonsewsthesatinstras.blogspot.com
http://skycladatmidnight.tumblr.com
http://embracingthegoddessforever.tumblr.com
http://embracingthegoddessforever.blogspot.com