By Whipped rays piercing the clouds
(like stones on heaven’s blue)
the lashes of a sparkling fire
burned skin on dormant brain
(opaque and pale)
they fail (again)
to crack that poor mind for you
to know the truth
the light that can’t be seen
to know that lie that tore you out
in separable parts of I
I, dreaming on the strips of light
I, feeding from the fight against the other I.
excerpt – from Parentheses
©Daniela Marin,2018
Worlds of Words 