Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Victor D López Apr 2022
Love does not die of just a single blow,
Its life flows out quite slowly over years,
One drop follows another as love flows,
From thousands of unfatal cuts and tears.

A thousand little stings from tongue or eye,
A thousand unkind words from me and you,
A thousand "I told you so’s" piled on high,
A thousand battles lost, refought anew.

Each wound a scab that grows harder with time,
Covering festering hurts that won't heal,
An unwise word morphs to betrayal sublime,
Suppurating reminders all too real.

Simple kindness is lost from lack of use,
And what remains just a facade in truth.


My podcast reading of this poem is available at https://open.spotify.com/episode/7tRrW46ovkUfmLknjvhmGn?si=ipvg74hOQ3iWbWWlPfhDKw
Victor D López Apr 2022
When seeking knowledge occupies your mind,
Start close to home, and wisdom you may find.

Cast hubris out, and then truth will appear,
You may not know it, but it's always near.

Look not to the horizon to find truth,
Lest there you find only your wasted youth.
These three couplets are teasers for my short story, Eternal Quest which you can download free until 4/25/22, but only at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/181305
Victor D López Apr 2022
I am unworthy, Lord, of your sacrifice,
I am unworthy, Lord of your love,
But through You I am made whole.

My faith in You sustains me in the most difficult of times,
You are the light that shines in the darkest corners of my soul,
You have died. You have risen. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
Victor D López Apr 2022
I do not wear religion as a shield,
Nor as a sword.

I wear it quietly in my heart,
A beacon of hope, faith, and love.

I know You love me, Lord,
Despite all my flaws that make me unworthy of Your love.

God made man, the best of us,
Who died to buy redemption for our sins.

You are absent from my Church today,
Three days of absence that mark Your death and resurrection.

Tomorrow you will return in Glory,
We will celebrate your resurrection.

My wife and I may not be at Your home,
Illness may prevent it, not for the first time.

But we are grateful beyond words for Your sacrifice,
And the love that made it possible.

We carry You always in our hearts,
With gratitude, love, and hope.

You have died. You have risen. You will come again.
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
Victor D López Apr 2022
I am an ostrich, hiding deep within myself,
My head submerged in murky moods,
Screaming in a vacuum.
No, not a vacuum, but a sound-proof room,
With walls of ten-foot stone,
A fortress,
Clammy, cold and, dimly lit,
That admits no sound,
But the monotonous percussion,
Of a heart that knows the one eternal truth:

We are born dying,
And every breath that we take,
Every beat of our heart,
Brings us one step closer,
To the grave.

It is easy to forget a world exists outside,
My diminutive cell when my teeth chatter,
Not from the absence of warmth,
But from the absence of meaning.

Perspective, perspective, perspective,
Echoes through my fruitless cell.

I am a foolish,
Ugly bird,
Cowardly bird,
But needlessly.

I heard a song today, a soothing melody,
Sung by an angel dressed in woman's clothes;
Oh, sing again, dear love, I had
Almost forgotten your sweet voice!
This is one of my early poems that links in a vital albeit indirect way to one of my early short stories, Eternal Quest. We are too often so wrapped up in ourselves that we forget to live. We can pursue life-lomng Quixotic quests looking for love, truth, enlightenment in all the wrong places when all may be closer to hand than we realize until it is too late. I was in my late teens when I wrote one of my early and still favorite short stories, Eternal Quest, and not much older when I penned the above poem. Both are prescient and, alas, not instructive enough for the young old man that wrote them. If you would like to read Eternal Quest, I am making it available for free download until April 25 but only at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/181305
Victor D López Apr 2022
It's Poetry Month,
If poets wail in the woods,
Do they make a sound?

If what we write goes unread,
Why on earth do we persist?
It is madness, I insist,
No one can cure 'till we're dead.

Will we be silent, or discouraged? No!
Let our voices resonate with our truth,
Be it sweet as a ripe pomegranate,
Or sour as cheap wine left too long uncorked.

We sing as best we can in harmony,
Or screech like rusty nails caressing slate,
E pluribus unum - one family,
Embracing every country, every state.

Our voiced won't be silenced, nor our song,
For we were born to sing right notes and wrong.
Victor D López Apr 2022
On Modern Art

Art is in the eye of the beholder,
Modern art is especially troubling,
Since when anything goes, nothing matters,
When everyone's an artist, art is dead.

Splotches on paper art? Yes if you wish,
And so are vulvas rendered in a dish,
Mother of God submerged in dung and ****,
Men urinating in men's mouths is bliss.

Who are the arbiters of this grand farce?
Why art critics, of course, for they know best,
And we, the unwashed masses, must all yield,
Our sense to what their wisdom will reveal.

Filtered through their ego art is revealed,
Through platitudes delivered with great zeal.


Redemption

Even in lost souls,
Embers of goodness remain,
waiting to be stoked.

With a gentle nudge,
Our better natures can rise,
Purified, renewed.

We can save ourselves,
Make amends for our mistakes,
Choose a wiser path.


The two poems above are inspired by two short stories from my Echoes of the Mind's Eye collection.
You can my podcast reading of the above poems and others at https://anchor.fm/victor-d-lopez
Next page