Poetry: The Truth About Myself

This is a glass of wine
Empty.
Drops that remain to be a sign
That lips have tasted me.

The truth about me is a facade, i think,
A code encoded with a missing link.
The rest is a mystery shrouded in white
That opens a daylight chapter at night.

This is all there is about me:
A Protestant in a Catholic feast
Baptised in a forsaken sea;
Only to pray to an idol, a prince of the East.

Leonell