What a sense of relief
Your touch has placed
Upon my listless heart
What kind of madness
Has corrupted my mind
And still you thrive
No quite in vitality
More with grief
I can’t believe the life you manage
The soul you somehow keep
I am hardly aware of your beauty
Hidden, while I weep
And I weep
Prospering outside
Prospering deep
-Jennifer Barajas
A Dead Language 