miedo

I saw the white door

open in space,

a wound made of thunder,

a mirror with a face.

No angels were singing,

no trumpets were blown,

only the silence

speaking alone.

The stars started kneeling,

the oceans stood still,

the moon hid its fever

behind the black hill.

And I heard it whisper,

soft as a rod:

“Who can keep breathing

in the fear of God?”

The fear of God,

the fear of God,

falling like fire

through the blood.

The fear of God,

the fear of God,

a crown made of lightning

in the mouth of God.

Machines in the chapel,

prophets of dust,

counting the sins

of memory and rust.

The sky opened slowly,

like skin in the rain,

and every dead planet

confessed its old name.

No heaven, no mercy,

no body, no sound,

just one little judgment

still turning around.

And it kept repeating,

cold, pure, and bright:

“Were you only shadow,

or made for the light?”

The fear of God,

the fear of God,

falling like fire

through the blood.

The fear of God,

the fear of God,

a crown made of lightning

in the mouth of God.