Life is a paradox,
a sweet disposition.
There's a sanctuary of sweet scented sorrows,
flowering vines and blowing chimes and soft symphonic tunes.
There's a wild radius of plants, some of which rarely seen,
he shows you around his paradise with eyes that only gleam.
It's a place full of life because a man lost his wife.
The air is cold but the sun warms my back. It warms his, too.
But what do you do when the voices in your head
I'm brought to my knees by the idea that the same feeling that brought you to the moon also takes you to dark, dark places.
There are faces we see every day and in very few moments life gives us a glimpse of the face of their hearts and their intentions.
And did i mention that mystery and enchantment can't last forever?
If those creatures don't come out to play, refrain. Don't go knocking on their doors because one day the door will open and it will be empty.
I just found this as a draft. Can't remember when i wrote it.
Celery and cigarettes,
We're running towards death to prolong our longevity.
Not knowing where I'm headed,
My confusion comes from brevity.
We face our fears
and hide our tears behind masks of
Is this reality or abnormality?
These thoughts are aren't brief,
turning my passions into a new disbelief;
he tries to proceed but I
stop him with the thought of good grief.
What's so good about grief?
The indian chief never wanted to part from the land.
The band never wanted to part from the the groupie
and the groupie never wanted to part with ***.
What's the next best?
The stolon of a strawberry holds this capability,
but the strawberry itself has
never truly a been a berry, botanically.
Mechanically this mechanism of
self destruction is much similar
to common day construction,
tearing down only the worthy attributes of land
only to build an empire
made of worthless sand.
Last night I dreamt and I have
yet to decipher whether or not it was real.
The way I feel is quite perplexing;
I strive to live in the now
but I'm always looking for the next thing.
In time I
think I'll remember
just what hasn't happened yet.
****** poem. Just thinking
En un mundo de cristal que no puede ser roto,
Monstruos muestran amor y
el heroe consigue enfermo.
El mundo al reves y
comio un arco de iris,
El predicador pidió por una Dos Equis.
Fui buscando por algo que
no puedo recordar,
Pero yo se que es algo que
nunca yo he visto.
En mi camino un hombre viejo
HIJO. Ven conmigo!
Asi, yo fui.
Todavia no puedo recordar,
Algo sobre los duraznos en las playas,
o tal vez eran papayas,
Pero nos encontramos un fuego
que nos mantuvo frio.
Durante el noche el sol
herido mis ojos,
y a la vez yo recordé todo
que yo sabe.
In a world made of glass that cannot be broken. Un universo paradojico
I'm not exactly sure which is better: losing sleep over tiresome thoughts or sleeping your life away days at a time for the same reason. I believe deep down we all want good to win; we want to be better, to grow, to eat three times a day, and be light. But even deeper we find the want for not really knowing anything, only acting based off our emotions. We want to cave in, to be human and live in a mystery. Knowledge is power, but knowledge can hurt. I want the rose and its thorns, and i want its consequences. My mind moves faster than my heart could ever keep up with and I don't think I'll ever be able to settle in, sit still, and know and a c c e p t that this is my life. But until then those voices will keep running me ragged and all i can do is scream.
I'll write a poem for you every day we meet,
silently hoping one day to knock you off your feet.
I could sit and make lame rhymes for weeks,
only if this intrigued you would I feel complete.
It's so hard to tell if you'll feel this or not,
no doubt if it reaches your hands my face will be hot.
Rhyming words to steal a spot next to you,
don't really know if it will work or not.
Just know I'll try my hardest to earn that spot. One day ill have the courage to ask if you like me? or not?
For now, let's have fun.
You're a bit adventurous, let's go for a run
barefoot through creeks and rivers,
we'll accomplish things that will leave shivers.
Someone who gave me my first mystery in this life wrote me this poem.
I think I would've loved leaving shivers with you.
I still hurt never giving you a rhyme back.
It comes and goes.