Lamps beside ourselves
Light at night past twelve
Allowing spoken word
To be felt then heard
No matter the cause
Nor the time to pause
Our thoughts cease
For our heart to release
Contemplation through the hour
Concerns begin to tower
Through our rest to attest To confide and then access
Question your meaning
Why you speak by leaning
Taking your drain to rain
That what we lack we attain
Instances of guidance upon decadence through internal persistence
Training of the mind it is not, but rather caring for deliverance

There is complexity in the heart
Despite even the matters that soon depart
Where it is blind, there is lightened distress
Dear fallen dove, what hath you thought and digress
Hypocrisy to judge, for empty I am as well
Even with waters that shield have divided as well
Backs turned, thinking clearly you suppose your not well
Even to ears familiar you have fears; very well
Camaraderie binds the past but how much more shall it last
With hatchets above grounds of varying cast
There is nothing, silences perhaps
Sadly why I comprehend, sad why I cannot share your joy
Sad that you’re blinded merely by only mishaps
Of the anchors of distracted affections; humanities ploy

Water take no cleansing action to his detention
That has felt no remorse for the notion of vindication

Foolish mentality, child without maturity
Lead by impulse, and lulled by a narcissist

Sitting there like gravity has given you control
Ignorant individual entrapped with your own soul

Take one moment, talk, not to her but for her
Exactly what was your discourse, are you her

Did you act on juvenile inclination or fortification  
Subconsciously lost to wicked temptation

Sincerely do you have a mental hindrance
I’m subjecting to name-calling because of this dance

Who are you following what are you allowing
Your letting the past mold your thinking

Don’t get defensive you made the offensive
Your know the history, yet you let lust be submissive

“Go back” that is what you lack, the thought to review
And guide your way through and accept you’re flawed

Token and sixty-five in my palm, unsure of my departure
And how to arrive into the window’s light clearing my iris’s aperture
Here I stand thinking of a great deal
Upon what has happened this week and how I feel
Sitting here on this coach for an hour
With the same constants on my mind from before
Praise and grace upon this afternoon weather
Though humble my mind maybe no longer
Upon this seat feeling perturb
I glance at the passing buildings and each street’s curb
Rather questioning my place in Philadelphia
Sadly taking the past and thinking like a pariah
Melodies flood my mind, as the flashing rings shined
Shuttering lenses remain my view as I began to unwind
But from the morning of this Sunday all I thought was that of one
Withdrawn, as I stride from a second gone

God sent spirit
Born out of love
Place by fate
o understand the whole
Lonely though
But a phoenix among his friends
Inquisitive, mature, wise
One’s defined assets in the end
Put through all but small scrapes show
However what makes them deep are
His ability to endowed realizations from a far:
Though eventual our life here is made and taken
The true gift of life is to be mindful that we can be mistaken
And that arrogance and ignorance are the downfall of the best of us.
We are only human in a world that is superficial to the eyes that god gave us.

What is it about the matters of the heart
Why do we choose to forget and depart
This trend that embarks upon stillness
Longing waiting knowing without witness
The condition of intertwined thought with paper
Recall the nature of pretend, but your mind is on her
When nights with friends, are absent because she’s not there
Why do you think, stressed by the day then a smile
Fills the mind, lifting spirits like the day was worthwhile
But polarities that are involved Have no place for the working mind to solve
While no passionate artist can paint
The equivalent happens to Christian saints
The sacrifice, of the soul’s trinity
Understanding only by divinity

to you,

I'm writing a letter for you
keep these words close
lend these images solely
to those mismatched times

i speak with not much grace,
drink water in due respect -
look away yet return,
to your company.

equivocally
i wrote these words
on scattered note cards
learning from the floor
on what should be said
as each possibility
seemingly aligned

i threw away
these 3x5 letters
endearingly followed
by sincerely,

but clearly
i have thought
too much
worried little
than usual

perhaps,
a meal
at your leisure
with my words
now infront of you

but truly
in regards,
to that smile

Overcast evening mixed with air and rain
Foreboding hairs rising, thoughts in vein
Words a loss at most to the gloss of this face
Strikingly beautiful to the beholder to trace

And it comes to this,
To care once more
With armor and all,
Flocking feathers fallen a more

There heeds no guide
No aide
To why we do
What our mind forbade

Discipline furthers its stretch
This man and his juvenile mind a mesh
Simply a child seeking a maternal figure
In every woman, a trigger

Trickling on the sides of faces
Are theses outlines for lost graces
Mixed ways in dismays from everyday
Departure to fool into rapture today

This is how it revolves to the middle
Month where a year comes,
To so little
A refreshment course to the choices
Taken hold by desirable answers

Trying to figure not to procure
An imminent ache to secure

Glaring through the window,
Focusing on circling flies,
While having laid an impression with this body,
Have my hours promised this past,
and all before,
Blocking these eyes from thinking at all.

These closets with stacked belongings kept for certain,
The lights remain on even throughout the night,

they flicker at times !

these blinds almost shield this daylight,
allowing reflections to emit,

do my words have substance ?
does my soul care to admit

The patterns in the ceiling
Change their shades in the evenings
While my white linens line my body
I stare meticulously at dripping saline
My hands tell their stories
Of triumph and failure
Of changing primary colors
I can feel the beating
That resonates throughout

time dwindles,
like the whistling
annoyance of the morning
alarm clock
upon the now perturbed
ear drum.

a thumping sound
now sums up these tones and hands
us passing sands again.

hopefully gaining
through the contours
of this mind,

a broad to narrow
perspective of what reminds
me of these times.

I can't help but be concerned with your every move
with my mind developed in solitude
You move with out care with drunken eyes
Over mornings with an aching sighs

You speak with conviction
A smile with devious intention
But with a fire of daemonious concerns,
An Attention for fallen angels, you learn.

That the reality is not complete
Disconnected from you, and discontented
You elicit change in others providing
Romantic praise in libations of initiations

You gather lives, pressing a piece of yourself
In each intimate encounter – satisfied
That you have made light of their candle
A blue flame of resolving promises

You have kept yourself well
Free, intangible from the intrinsic
Drawing from your own ambiversive nature
Clearing your own torture of monotonous conjecture  

I almost lost your reflection
From the diversion of an incidence

Realizing your beauty surpassed superficiality
Through your eyes I see aesthetic sensuality

You sit there
devout in your intentions,
Deeply sure
that the path laid
is the path surely taken.

Frozen in my views
merely
kneeling
before alters of instituted obstacles,
feeling, pleading with myself
that what is set before me
is a fork with a middle way
taking my own trident
to absolve into paganistic
views of this world
where each objective
has a celestial voice

my comforts are
within knowing
and not what I try to understand

This is my mind thwarting fear
but repeatedly left in complacency.
Giving answers to my own questions
While my self interrogation
Never has been set in this time.

But always focused on the future
With a pessimistic view of the world

So that I can be secure
not be shocked, and surprised

To prevent myself to be mechanized
To form thoughts away from obscurity
So that I will not compulsively lie to sleep

I need to be difficult, and serious.

I need to be a person that gives them self
Hardships, days that put others to quickly raised flags
Because for some unexplainable reason, easiness, failure, and simply being stationary
Never has kept me defeated, but has provided me success.

I know myself but not well, but enough to realize my faults, and actions

My mind is always thinking, moving, caring, reasoning, and limiting itself
Because I am still simply a human trying to use sense in this world

We forget we are human;
We lay frozen in these carnal desires
We need to melt away
And be mindful of our winters

the lunacy that is foreseenfrom the eccentric glowof what we affix as attentivewaves in contracted honesty pulling for a dualitydespite our trained individualitywith this intended dissension  we are seeking comfort pushing within our fortifiedfacades dwelling, foretellingmelodic expressions revealing a need for innocenceto run proportionally with socratic thought

familiar waters
flow like a wave,
trickle a rhythmic down poor
grasping solace spaces
within conducive centers

signs-other wise noted
of alternating views,
bundled for impulsive branches

so that we may realize
what we lack at times

a pull upon the contrary
system

without a bias past

Reflected, an iris      of colored contexts      that once had reception without spectacles.       I signed voluntarily the letters to a name      that I sincerely wanted to keep.       I tried to limit the lines      that divided the print      of a written statement of deliverance;      a sealed inner sanctum      that has remained defunct      while displaced of force      all along devout of a substance,       my words strived to be read      ingrained on paper      placed in constants      among summations of variables       clearly he scribed drafts      maintaining a patterned      complex of metaphors      only to contradict       the expressions layered,      confusing this thinker      so that the reader      may interpret a plausible       audibility for thought       looking beyond spectrums      of what is to be foreseen

I need to resist writing metaphorically
with literary techniques and motifs
that occur only for my mind.
I once wrote openly with clear contexts
with rhythmic verses that showed
thoughts kept in line.
That is all lost now.
Writing use to be my medium, my expose
but i've learned beyond this middle line that Icarus
swayed in the sun, fluttering grasping his own wings
that were never part of himself.
He could have used "Red Bull" , but that is just
another false marketing campaign to ourselves;
to utilize tools that already preexist within us all.
The world that we live in is filled with stimuli
that our senses get overloaded and we focus
on what we see in front, as opposed to our front
sour facades, and alternative personas
just so that we can conform; forming
molds that we have no choice but to breath in.Cough!
There is a reason why I wrote in symbols
broken sentence structures, because i did not want to be vulnerable.
To speak this mind, not of mind, not for mind,
but to remindme of emotions, experiences, and realizations.
What we keep inside is our pandora
our deep hope cluttered, underneath,
covered with all that confusionthat we reflect to others.
So, I failed to resist to write in metaphor
but i spoke my mind, i spoke in passion
yet remained somewhat clearand ascertained something to adhere.
Who I am to myself.

stern with his words
to discern his concerns to stranger's for their hearts. infallible to present emotion
through echoing laughers; a healing tone around the restless worries of his kin.
abound him is the aura of forgotten soul,
a classic remixed romantic
comparable to the chivalry lost to the courts of modern life.

Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.

The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.

Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.

Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.

The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.

Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.

From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.

evening cooled the air
before school.
a solemn thought
and what was felt,
challenged
the feats of futbol
to traversed
hop-scotches

the teacher calls:

child why have you ran there ?

"looking through
the crevices"

"playing hide and seek"

trembling with elation
- where the light
shines through
your smile

signal,
your limber hands
hope through your words
a tone of resilience
your mother once spoke.

Prince,
you are found
return now
along the port line's
seas
she sees you now

I have been pacing enamorately,
standing in airport terminals
not looking for your arrival.
But my eyes began to respectfully
look elsewhere as you came.
My words seem lackluster as we spoke
but I'm just captivated.
I want to write to you,
but i am unable to.
The departure time fast approaches,
and my destination awaits,
can we have just one more conversation,
so that I can listen to you.

truth is impartial to realities.
a human condition set
to diverge honorable practicality
to serve one's comfortfor selfish satisfactions.
yes, a liar is unbranched,
rooted in tasted knowledge
and is self-absorbed,
subject contradicted,
by one's mindmerely fooling
the present.the problem, the dynamic of fact and fiction.
a friction that has perpetuated personal attention
to realize that human intentions are reciprocal
;in protection from the truth within us
with the weakness we try not to expose.

These Nights with lights, Lightened from cigarette filled clouds to rainstorms.
We are drowning our Inhibition to exhibitions, of a shallow madness.

Within a matter of clearance
Of transverse sunrays:
We call this morning
A day past,
A night ruled with dreams.
Flooded with traffic afflicted
Souls searching beneath empty vessels of libations
Only to unearth realizations from lost sensations.

Vagabonds patrolling streets
apparently policing their worries,
from failed inquiries of maternally adopted creeds.

Divided vision escalated arrhythmic palpitation
Deviation from a gradual calm away from calamity
Expel, Exhort-Excise, the deep-veil

A rising dawn, polluted skies reflected in these eyes,
I stare at this street lamp, flickering at-us-all.

A Full dose of chemotherapy symptoms:
Hair loss, loss of appetite, and pale completion

Antibiotics, Steroids,
And intravenous fluids
I may get sick in addition to this

Cancer.

The doctor I ask
What interests you in this specialty?
“The research of a cell that believes
In the fictional concept of immortality”

Yet my mortality is in question here:

And yet here, I sleep, rest and lay down
Almost stationary to this ever moving world
That supposedly when I stop
I can then move again to rise or fall
An almost witty comparative analysis
If I even dared to displace myself
From this bed

So I continue this rigor of treatment
Despite the horrid regurgitations that follow
And I grow continually weaker when supposedly

A cell divided is a sign of being alive

Where is this immortality this doctor speaks of?

Because I am afraid
For I do not understand

Life breathing life everlasting,

A soporific effect

Matters we do not understand
Are eternally received by preserving
Ourselves in words

A poem cannot be written
when thoughts are of disarray,
and the focal point is a loss.
While the rhythm is drowned
under bridges, and refrains
repeat and singing is even left
in thoughts loosely transcribed
only in the presence of the writer's muse
.Some would even say the subject
Has made this mind digress
To write behind words,
defensive to revel in revealing
this inspiration:
Stanzas are left disconnected in corner
sand couplets are left without emphasis,
affected by the coolness of autumnas folded loose leaf papers cover the floor.
The personification is no longer objective
and metaphors have changed to similes.
Ironies have begun to take hold
and the soliloquy remains to take it's stage.
This writer has written this before
it's all too familiar, close, even the same.
The pen has touched this paper
to continue these words is up to you.

Brought from this morning
Tracing back days away from here
Where time won’t wait for understanding
Please hear me out for I cannot
By this time you still know my intentions
But I don’t know your direction
Where you’re lost, where you’re confused
Just take a listen through your window
For I’ve taken my words given my voice
Despite your choices, to me you still have poise
You just need to be aware of your heart
Your brokenness, with reason from these stories
There are no coincidences in our breaths
Every move, has meaning upon our days
It has been too long I’ve pondered
Disappointed, shunned and misconstrued
Maybe though that’s my limit to be a conscience
So that I no longer have this internal dissidence

He manages to free his thoughts
as he gazes the television
for news from a distance,
while continuing to sample
his supper of rice,
and sauteed vegetables
on a aluminum serving plate.

The restaurant he owns
dimly lit this mid-afternoon
with ghostly lanterns,
and artistic impressions
of times past on the wall,
while customers
walk and gingerly pass
ordering from an eclectic
menu of indo-latin-euro-oriental cuisine.

A neapolitan of condiments
dancing among garlic chili sauce,
and mayonnaise.

Mahogany grained panel walls,
and formica woven
seats, uniformly
scattered among
porcelain white
plates; traditional.

Engraved Jade pieces
hung with colors of luck
on each entrance.

I approach the counter.
A sepia toned
picture of his family
hanging by his register
no first dollar bill
or recognitions.
Just family held,
through time,
as he hands me a check.