Poetry by Ted Bernal Guevara
So
I’m moving slower now
So
I’m flying
Still, I tuck you
in my young arms,
the embrace they mimic
of every man’s pursue
of Helen. Or Clytemnestra,
her twin from all burden.
She does not puzzle fling. She’s more
my type
in this
The rain on her face
I’ll wipe gently. Yours
is in my soul, dry from any case.
I’ll be at your tender.
The two are
just an egg.
About the Poet
“I am a freelance writer from Speedway, Indiana. Although I delve in an array of themes–always looking for the unusual—I tend to adhere to the plight of the disabled, the helpless, their “profound richness,” as I mention in one poem.” – Ted Bernal Guevara