little girls

The fog seems dense, the silence immortal…
My memories seem blurred, my choices hazy.
I am a stranger to my thoughts,
My own brutality scares me, the unlocked doors…
There are so many little girls,
They love to sing and play, they’re surrounded by cold,
The tall willows in my decadent thoughts.
The girls shine with a strange light, their hair, their eyes.
Not older than five or six, innocent souls.
I am alone with their presence, they make up my soul.
The chilling breeze holds ancient music,
The tinkling of a bell I used to play…in my childhood.

I am afraid to turn every corner, I confine myself
To a nullity of the green forest.
The girls follow close, they see rainbows, illusions.
I can hear them chanting, or when they scream, frightened.
An echo is heard around the chamber, laughter.
A half moon, a pale sun, sits so high in this vision,
It seems to mock me in the quiet.
It is the numb of emptiness, the eerie silence of madness…
And still the girls dance to a slight tinkle of a bell.