Martas poems:

She waits... through days and nights horribly the same, remembering faces, forgetting names. Days of slow burning fires inside her chest, Nights filled with dark and icy regrets and her heart, her heart always beating sad and alone the live wasted symbol of what wihtout being, ts gone She waits... in the warm sweetness of tropical sunsets and under the cold glow of elusive moons, always waiting for what she does not yet know, what might not even exist. She waits... her soul like an old sail boat... Sign in to see full entry.