Aged Mirrors (12) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler

It's late in our body.
Our chains:
Rusted and fatigued.
They die.
They live us alone in our life.


Deserted years.
Our winged tears:
The only angels left.


It's late in our sadness.
It's not that we are more patient.
Only the struggle with time
Is old and weary as ourselves.


Slowly we realize
Nothing can be measured.
Not even the distance
Between body and soul.




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