His hair was golden
To me
It was the sun
But now, oh but now
You could say he’s a fallen man
Maybe a falling man
Quickly descending
So fast, he can’t even breathe
Almost mad but still capable of earthly things
Carefully, oh so cautious
Changing nothing
All happening inside possible
Maybe terrible moments of genius
When he was everything and
All he ever could be
Nothing missing
Not a tremble
Not a beat
So hungry he wouldn’t dare to eat
He knew fever and splendid misgivings
It is all that he was
But what he is- is not for me
Maybe for angels
For something ethereal
For something that will know
Just how to set my spirit free
-J. Barajas
A Dead Language 