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D minor
Rembrandt's finer
Paint, oils, a breakfast
of red grapes and green olives
with Homer
Aristotle gazes
Admiration for a bust
An odyssey of emotion
Somewhere in the dust
Bach's fugue is overwhelming
Travelling back in time
Moving skulls around
To rest and surround
Socratic dialogue
resounds
leather-bound, a work of art
 Aug 2015 Ariel Baptista
ryn
Awake this day...
And never fear.
I believe...
everything would be much clearer.
This day more than most...

For this day...
And everyday forward,
the sun would rise in haste to propose a toast...
to the undoubtedly most significant people... 

in my heart...

The moon would pull on the tides...
My thoughts and well wishes on waves they ride,
racing to farthest reaches of your recluse.

Just so this day you'd know
More than most days would show...
That my belief will withstand the fires of a hundred guns.
That my love would blaze with the fury of a thousand suns.

Know that,
this day the planets and stars finally would inherit their orbit true.

This day...
And everyday forth...

the universe would and must revolve around you.
For the writers who've left...
Why try an be Mr nice dude nice guys are nice but I'd rather be the guy not liked everyone can be some liked Mr nice but I'm happy where I'm at ,
Stating opinions
 Aug 2015 Ariel Baptista
Sophia
This is a poem
about you

but there's nothing poetic about
your unkempt hair
and your round face

there's nothing poetic about your
constant need of reassurance
"where are you? what are you doing right now?"

there's not an ounce of romance in your disturbed sense of "love"

this is a poem about you,
but it's not a poem about love.

It's a poem about redemption
and regaining of confidence

*it might be about you, but it's none of my concern anymore
 Aug 2015 Ariel Baptista
K G
When I used to go out of the house, I knew everybody that I saw
Now I go out alone not know anybody at all
When I used to go out of the house, I knew everybody that I saw
Thinking out loud
Laying on back
Syncing in trash
Leading up to a new trade of cards
Playing what I'm dealt with
I forgot what it feels like to have friends
Now I'm stuck with sold fools
And musty old folks who walk through your house for no reason at all
When I used to go out of the house, I knew everybody that I saw
Now I go out alone not know anybody at all
When I used to go out of the house, I knew everybody that I saw
Losing my pride
I hate going outside, now
This is no joyride
I climbed up to hide
But I could only try
This house replacement, I just hate this life style
Filled out of control still
It's so bad these days, we are sad and lonely All that we can see in our lives
I can't remember if I am who I was before moving away because when I used to go out of the house, I knew everybody that I saw
Now I go out alone not know anybody at all
When I used to go out of the house, I knew everybody that I saw
Losing my pride
Losing my stride
No more ocean tides
 Aug 2015 Ariel Baptista
Beaux
My love is not a rose for a rose be too common
My love is not one to be described as flowers
She is but a drop of rare rain to the desert plain
Something my heart can hardly contain
My love is not a rose, no
But an indescribable thing
My love is like the unseen rings of Saturn in the spring
For my wife
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
Some
people say
there's only one
thing to remember
when digging yourself
into a hole, and that is to
"drop the shovel." I say that we
all must dig our own graves, but
"the deeper the grave, the higher the
hill, so I'm diggin' myself a mountain!
"
We're all given a shovel at birth and dig until
we cease in death. We are all gonna die one day,
and there's no need to understand the mountains we
make by climbing them. We must dig as deep as possible.

-----

The size of your                                                                         hill is
a symbol of your                                                                    legacy;
the size of the hole                                                          is a symbol
of your sense of duty                                                 to that legacy.
     Those who persist to                                             dig 'just enough'    
can afford to have one                                         foot in the grave,
but leave nothing but a                                      molehill; they are
just waiting around to die.                            Those that use their
time wisely on their path to                          death and persist in
their creating something much                  greater will establish,
           feverishly,      a      lasting
                \   legacy. /
So, I ask, which    stays    more
            noticeable  on the  sinking
                       horizon . . .

                                                       . . . a mountain or the
                                                             ­                       hole next to it?


∘ ⊱‧⌍  ⌈✞⌋  ⌌‧⊰ ∞
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
I left the stairwell
Tears in my eyes
Holding my red, raised cheek
Like I'd held your hand
Not so long ago
Forced
Like I didn't want to
Like if I held it together
Hard enough
That would fix everything
The paisley pattern of the carpet
Printed on my knees
In the same color as your hand
On my face
But the story you tell from that night
Is much different from mine
You got pats on the back
And congratulations
While I got whispers
And stares
And everyone thinks of me as
The Hotel *****
When really I'm your
One Who Got Away
Physical relationships don't solve anything. You knew what I needed, what we needed, and you threw it away for a good conquest story. Thanks. I needed to learn.
 Aug 2015 Ariel Baptista
REAL
Tied
 Aug 2015 Ariel Baptista
REAL
You control me
I control you
Both restrained
Vulnerable to the love
We have
For each other's body
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