Words

 One two three

words that I forsee

meanings extrapolated over minutes

left to create something out of nothingness

Four five six

painful moments that sticks

are these words that matter

are these words that remain

or forgotten scribbles of nothingness

that are forgotten before they exist

Some kind of Wonder

 The poison swims inside

like bacteria feeding off 

some kind of wonder

the lost moments

of the year forgotten

as the poison swims more

elixer or not

cure that I forgot

left on the pages

of some kind of wonder

The Seconds After Midnight

Sheer and tranquil
Your body soaked in magic
Approaches me still
Moments
Embraces
Lingering sensations
Tracing your outlines
Your curves and your perfection
The candlelight dances playfully
As your hair runs down my chest
Silent moans become louder
As the lovers unite in passion
We move like trained riders
Dancing to each other's beat
Wanting to touch every inch
Wanting to experience each second
As we climax and collapse
Breathing heavily into each other
The candle blows out furiously
The warm wax gently solidifies
The seconds after midnight
Continue to tick away

The Man From Hurst

There once was a man from Hurst
Stocky, bald and bereft of emotion
Each day he woke up absent of hope
He lifted his lugubrious body slowly
As if forcing time to bend to his will
As he gazed into the grimy mirror
Bloodshot and empty eyes stared back
His mind searched for any memory
Or thought to crystallize his existence
To distinguish one day from the other
To make him aware of being alive

There once was a man from Hurst
Who woke up one day and decided
That today was the day that mattered
He showered and he brushed
He pressed and he dressed
He ate flapjacks laced in syrup
And drank coffee with extra sugar
He wiped his face
He tied his shoe lace
And stepped onto his porch
This stocky man from Hurst
What life he led one doesn't know
As he sees the crimson dawn disappear
He decides to walk a path untraveled.

Oblivion

In the sea of darkness,
In absence of light,
This solitary man floats on,
Rudderless and without a mast,
Moving neither forward nor back,
Fearless and yet unafraid,
Hopeless and yet existent...


He floats seemingly,
Like a lone log driftless,
Tepid waters of diffidence,
Bathe his skin cold and lifeless,
The taunt and deep ridges of thought,
gently massaged away by these waters...


He floats gently,
Like the lone autumn leaf,
Falling from heights of glory,
Unaware as the mighty wind,
Gently caresses him and still,
Cradles him as he falls,
Towards the abyss of oblivion...

Inexistence

Still warm these ashes that rise,
Smoldering still in the aftermath,
Of the moment that is and was,
Unseen is the world around,
Unheard is every cry and every sound,


Ominous and deafening sounds near ,
Shallow and deep breaths reappear,
Clouds of fear and screams,
Waft and dance above,
Like an orgy of blood and tears.




Is this a fight or is it a feast,
Is it a victory or is it retreat,
Is there a winner or is everyone lost,
Is there anyone who isn't a walking corpse...




Still warm these ashes that rise,
Still blue the sky that once was,
Veiled is now in melancholic white.


Wandering amidst the rubble,
These lost and dazed faces,
Caked in gray masks of inexistence...

(inspired by the Syrian crisis)

Black

The black darkness of the night,
Laughs gently at me in a roar unforgettable,
The mirth is shattered by its sudden transition,
And with the force of its unworldly design.

The night transcends between whiteness and blackness,
Each transience celebrated by silver brilliance,
The madness of its turmoil unforgettable.

In heavy lumps of tears,
Amidst a wail that is deep and penetrating,
The night begins to weep.

The wanderer looks from his shelter below,
His eyes peppered with the salts of time,
Does this night sing a paean in honor,
Is it the laughter of a madman,
Or the cries of a lost wanderer

Shimmering and glistening,
Screaming and whistling, The black darkness of the night,
Continued its laughter and still,
The night continued to weep...