Monday
In the morning I see
These tears of void attrition
Like stellar waves, they consume
The death of autumn leaves blanket the ground
Those wounds that constrict the enzymes of nature
Spheres of shadows that block the internal suffering
Plunge your hand into the world
The wretched smell of somber dislikes, hold themselves in utter fear
After the sun has reached it highest point
I rethought my previous feelings of pessimism
Perforated I stand in the way of the sunrays
I can no longer think without apprehension
In the evening, I look into the black hole
With floral gaze, I understand the point of shadows
The human coral that gives life to pendants, transfixed on cellular motions
Swiped and stretched you stare into the anonymous
You lie down, close your eyes, and will awake tomorrow
With the same thoughts, you did this morning
The day after is no different
Until Tomorrow
a wonder child.
sometimes, i feel…
my heart is glass.
not cold, not hard.
just fragile.
and i feel it could burst,
or explode,
into a million microscopic pieces.
my small body could not hold it in.
they would dance through space,
catching the light perfectly,
creating a blinding light,
casting shadows of every color imaginable
on the faces of all whom i love.
sapphire.
ruby.
emerald.
violet.
a wonder child i would be.
illuminating the world.
and sometimes i don’t want to.
i want to catch each prism
and put it back into it’s place.
for an act so uncontainable
can make me feel so completely overwhelmed
and exposed.
but i let it go.
because
it’s beauty captivates me.
The Veiled Sycamore Tree II
Incandescent my mind shrinks in contour
seeking to hear this blind man’s whispers.
Hindered by fact and morally wounded,
Shaded by the veiled sycamore tree of all the worlds evils.
I grow in ignorance and vilify my crown.
A product of substance in gossamer light,
Weeping in full harmony – shed the skin.
This, which apprehends the fruitful questions
Kneeling as you halt to wait for it to be given to you.
What more is “nevermore?”
Quixote tracks through windmills, distracted by visions of giants.
Silent in relief.
The Veiled Sycamore Tree
A Light pale light dims the street lightly.
All ethics have been removed; what drives remorse?
Foundations collapse on moral issues.
Division enlightens the mind…to the coherent ear.
A hue of colors limited by the world,
Creativity shunned by the ill.
As life and will juxtaposed, creatures lie in prose.
Malapropisms control everything with their falsified thoughts.
This world not consumed in negativity,
It just controls the hierarchy of freedom.
Nature has authentic life.
Stigmas are just one more enigma.
Beneath the sycamore tree, there is scramble.
Fifteen steps from water at all times.
Death has no rhyme.
All that is different we are ashamed of.
Excluded is that of the perfect structure.
“Shakespeare has died!”
What morals – live for the materialistic?
A panic in this dimension…is assumed and unheard of.
This clear comprehensive though is trauma.
A curtain veils the sycamore tree.
Why is this so important?
Because walking in this desert, I am silent.
I am constrained to everything, yet I ignore.
Everything is perfect, to a life it is vomit.
Sleeping is a chore.
I must see that lightly dimmed world.
Death of Dream
Something called me last night it was fate.
Three a.m. in the morning, it was quite late.
It called me because it was in mourning.
His brother dream could no longer breathe.
Hope was shredding in tears.
Audacity has not made a move.
Nightmare starves away in the hollow.
Wish has become a recluse and steered clear of all voices and whispers that call it.
Fate asked, “How do we bury dream?”
I clear my eyes for no apparent reason, and say
“Ask the reaper he should know.”
It is surprising to know that fate is surprised.
That hope saw no future for dream to awaken.
I find it funny that I awoke, and it was just a dream.
Gentle Murmur
One-man motions with his hands that he has the will to live
While with the other, he has become numb.
His ideas of seclusion are his 12 hours of sleep.
He simmers in the company of people.
In murmur – he gently weeps.
On his knees he does not pray
But sings the songs of praise.
His thoughts as rigid and strong as a mountain
Silent he remains in repose.
Beneath his oak tree, he dances to the Sun’s shadow.
His nostalgia sickens him.
He pursues his awakening avidly.
Disposed by what once made him, he asks for sorrow.
He gently weeps – with no breath.
Closeted in his ambiguous mind he holds everything.
What more he has lost his train of thought.
He feels that extra strain, for which they classify him as insane.
He wades in the shallow.
However, he sleeps his seclusion by gently breathing in murmurs.
Metamorphosis Into the Well-being
A metamorphosis to the well being of man
shows creativity at the reach of any hand.
To close your eyes to convert pain to pleasure,
from pleasure to pure happiness.
Stay where you are because the grass is greener.
The other side is pure desert with no oasis in sight.
For you the day is the same as the night.
A metamorphosis into the well-being of man
is a thought we yet cannot comprehend.
To shut your ears to stay stray away of confusion,
however, this confusion is only an illusion.
The time you remain abuse it.
That one day you can not take away, do not regret,
cherish it.
This is a metamorphosis into a …
Alone
Suddenly,
All my dreams are coming true.
Is this what I wanted?
I have a future too,
so why is it running away?
The cold emptiness
Is all that’s left
Of my aspirations, my hopes
And here,
In the snowy, empty woods
I am hiding.
Crime
I never meant to hurt you but I guess I did that anyway.
And if this is my only goodbye
Well then I’d better make it count.
You think I lost my pride somewhere along the way
I think you never had it, but you sure as hell could lie.
So when you take off, don’t forget your hat and gloves.
To be completely clear, I didn’t want to be abandoned.
But what I want hasn’t mattered in some time.
If only you had listened for a heartbeat
Maybe we could have made some sense of this.
Waking From Her
Waking From Her
As I dream
I am lost in her voice.
I can’t feel
the absence of her heart.
As I dream
I can smell her, feel her.
I am lost
in life that I prefer.
As I wake,
Her smile fades away.
Leaving me,
To face my life alone.
