Spanish steps
one rythm
solo vocals
just one hymn

The night unveils
above the platform
white owls screeching
in the night. A
tender arrival suits
himself all in red.
These ebullient moons of
the nights harken back.

The bloodstain of a
bullfight paints the
steps of the biblioteca,
across the street from
the church of The Santa Pina.

The blooming spanish
seed of a thousand nights'
planets consort dancing under
the moonlight's dress.

Only once a chance was
given to all these
prevailers of the
night.

Now in silence
a hot brass chortle
confuses and erupts and erases
killing midnight from the eve.

The moonlit night has
danced, the passing
trains ought forwards and on
ward and too and too,
and another night
passes from stillness
to excitement.

I grew up in a home where wrong doers were the the only prevailers, where sin gave you a chance at fame, and modesty was the dust you swept beneath the rugs.
I became toiled within those walls. Fabricating happiness and joy. Wishing and hoping I had what it takes to be great. Then time grew older on me, and I was gifted the opportunity to make decisions for myself, running away from my demons became my passion, forgetting evil became my love. But time still grew on me, and every time I ran, I retreated back.
No where to build purity, I figured sulking in my own home of sins, would be better than anywhere else.
But time grew on me, and I lost the strength to care, to fight, to be concern with this life being lost. But aren’t I sinner ?
I pretended I was different, better, molded from greater. But I’m a sinner.
Yet !
I have failed to be great. To be happy.
I was ready to butcher it all away, piece by piece, I wanted to place every part of me up for the highest payer.
Maybe I still do?