Centuries

Centuries of veils have covered
me and my words
with a trembling incapacity
to articulate,
to demand,
to lay bare
what lies deep.
The forests looked fierce
resounding with perverseness of lust


and the sublime love, lost in the strife
I sought in a forest an infinity,
 the woman, banished from the land to the  forest

Always thrown into the flame
with no readiness,
 I turn to the sound of the flute, the dance of the waves
to the thunder in the skies when the cloud bursts
when the rain falls like a silence of ....that abstract thing called LOVE
This is what informs my words in the depth...
Hollow, are they? Too simple, or incomplete,
because they ask you fill up the blanks?