By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
GIVE NIGHT Give night my purest blessings and sky my deepest thanks, a solemn sigh, the lost words of a child that has grown too fast. It is not easy to watch morning fade. My eyes fixate on the sun and the sound of nature when I close my eyes. The smell of your absent scent is a smell I miss. Between you and I, I dread summer and its heat which finds joy in my suffering. A day does not go by where sleeping soothes these tears. Suddenly, the fiery sun and the smell of you not being here reminds me how far away you are. Funeral processions fill my thoughts. The dead go to the light. In this state of being it is hard to think. The cool breeze fills the room as I shake the sheets. My soft pillow awaits to take me to a new land. I open my mind and give in to sleep. Give night my dark blessings and let the sleeping begin. TAKEN DOWN Taken down by the huge security guards at the break of dawn. This village is not for all of us. I feel like First Blood Rambo. I just want a place where I could sleep till five in the a.m. I will get off the floor at five or four forty- five. No one is working here until six or so. I was slammed on my face. I am not so pretty. I look worse now than I did last night.
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal is a Mexican-born author, who resides in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, and Unlikely Stories.
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