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There, in the
tide pool, dappled by
the sun is birth and death,
and the spark that continues.
It leaves mankind in the wake of regret.
What have I to do with the albatross
Or sea lion?
I can but write, while they fly and roar.
I gaze upon the Pacific from this rock,
all its mysteries and grandeur.
I am inferior, while it forever reigns with
every wave and break of light.
Here's a link to my youtube channel where I read my poetry from my brand new book, It's a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-j1YkEdWQs
I woke up
last night.
I felt like a
crazy insomniac.

A sound of
Death’s tap on
the window,
then through
the floor boards.
Suddenly a whistle—
Screeched like
nails on the board,
slipping beneath
the door.

Waiting to grab
me in the shadows...
to throw me
back in a black
body bag.
Forever is never mine
nor yours
Not even ours

For long is much more probable
Although ends are inevitable
Yet the chase is impeccable

So, shall we try?
What does the light say?

I stay in your eyes.
I am best seen with your eyes closed
For I lie within you.
I ignite,
I brim
Within you.
I watch as the droplet eases itself
down from the wound, into a strip of paper,
scarlet on crimson. some might call it a stain,
but this is no mistake, I will fold myself
in, like blush on cheek, I will make it look real.

is it pathetic to imitate what we can never achieve?
the night sky gloats in silent mockery. the trail of
her dress drags along my dry eyes, and she burns
a hole for every jewel I cannot reach.

is it a sin to covet a sin? my fingers run along
the grooves of my carved pupils, and I can't
remember anything aside from the warmth
of a star in another orbit.

I fold my three hundred and fifty second paper star.
Does the moon believe that these are her children too?
Or are my paper cuts for naught? One day, I know
the paper will be skin and the star will be a sun.

but until then I will bleed, and until then
I will have to suffice with a constellation of scars
that glow in the dark on my ceiling.
white drapes,
wax on the table,
muscadine wine,
and "won't you come sit?"

this is the color of hope, i think
this old green couch
with the missing spring
and us,
knitted together,
bodies eclipsed-
a tangy, smitten tangerine of a love
2/14/25
It was the first drop of blood,
that kissed my messy room surface,
Scars were too tired to be wet again beside my eyes,
The room was darker than a little bright,
It was the period where sunset took over,
the command of sunlight...

The second drop sprinkled on the floor,
they too, were unaware of the pain,
or it's colour, or the ecos of roar,
who else knew I was dying alone,
in my beloved city, as an unknown...

The third drop carried a lot together,
It took over the brightness of sunlight and the surface,
the smog of burning diaries was the reminder
that it's gonna be late night before complete darkness,
and I giggled now for dealing with it really less...

The last shadow of yours left,
was the time of the last drop, the last breath,
I fell on the floor, over the red ashes,
but unlike you I loved, again and again,
blood denied to enter again through my vein...

Through my open eyes, I saw a body lying in solitary,
a painful death in the holy city,
pale eyes, devastated face, and a burnt diary,
It was all here that I could find,
I opened it's last page with my shivering hands,
"A whole book could have I written for you,
but like the mystery of life, you can't be defined..."
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