Carlos Gutierrez

Rookie (10/23/95 / Managua)

Cotton Space - Poem by Carlos Gutierrez

This lamp is always shining,
It has never abandoned this dusty room.

The room is quite the size, though.
It is thirty kilometers and half a mile with three-quarters of a centimeter long,
And nine feet and thirteen yards with three cups of width.

The lamps shines dimly in the vast blankness.

It's a dark flame that burns atop.

Not a black one,
Just dark...

And hanging upside-right sideways from the wall,
Stands a man with crippled hands.

He's said to have lost all his senses at age two.

But somehow, in someway, he manages to feel the heat from the lamp;
He also sees the reflection of the flame's ember along side the cotton walls.

But I see nothing...
I feel nothing as well...

He points towards my left and horizontal point-of-view;
I am still unable to spot this 'lamp'.

He grabs my frozen hands, with his crippled one.
The texture feels abnormal,
Even to me.

I follow him,

Then he holds my face,
I stare at his blank eyes,
And hold them in place.

The image strikes with the power of a fist,

There's still nothing,
Just the cotton room all around.

I feel him though,
He hasn't left yet,
Not that there's some kind of exiting door anyways...

Maybe I'm the blind one,
Maybe I've lost everything I had that was never in my possession,
Or maybe, just maybe,
I have forgotten to open my eyes...

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Poem Edited: Saturday, March 31, 2012

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