"On the first day
the wind froze the roses.
The withered leaves
weren't stopping falling down.
On the second day
in the sky I saw white tears.
I heard the echo of a shout
resourding in the mountains.
On the third day
my sadness and pain dissapeared.
With my red blood
the snow was dyed...
On the fourth day
the darkness clouded my soul.
For the judgment of my sins
my spirit was condemned.
On the fifth day
the oblivion cried in my tomb.
Unnamed sepulcher that hides
itself in the high plateau.
On the sixth day
the nocturne dew are my tears.
Forever my essence will stroll around
in the mount of the souls.
On the seventh day
my image is only a shadow.
The Death handles threads
from who arrives the hour to.
On the eighth day
my memory is lost in the time.
Still in dreams you can see
my reflection in the mirror.
On the ninth day
I'm your death, death in life.
Your ring begins here,
I have only been your guide."
Poem and Pictures © of Cris Ortega