The storm

A broken cry is piercing the silence
And some white birds are thrusting through the thorns.
Like a remedy that overwhelms the pain
On my temple deep roots still grow.


The gilty stakes embraced by broken spasms
Are burning like flames on hidden treasures.
And, in the dirt, the blooded buds are shaking
Towards the skies, alive, their way still searching.


The storm is taking off the forest's sins
And frightened beasts are coming out the thicket
Under the burden of the withered leaves
Crashed branches fall on earth like rocket.


And night is here, blackening the skies
With howling wolves still looking for a shelter.
But in the distance you can see a ray of light
Awaiting for the storm to weaken.