by Maria Isabel Cecilia Pascual
Death is hovering; like a crow circling upon its prey...
Must be the pallid reflection from a mirror,
Of a creature that is now me.
Cursed like a spirit of the night;
That lives off from mine,
And thine animating force.
But my heart is one of mortals;
That beats each day and night.
A heart that knows love...
Infinite as the sun!