Nothing changes
very much in a day.
Not even your nightmares.


My veins are full of
fear stolen from my ancestors.
My heart is full of
ghosts cloaked in shame,
of demons bursting with guilt.


My heart is raw with sins
not even God could imagine.
My heart is a foreign storm.


My heart is an imaginary island
where butterflies go to die.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/heart-as-imaginary-island/