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Arthur Vaso Apr 7
Red
The color of the keffiyeh
the color of blood
the color of  death
the name of the little  goat
soon to be dead
a rose is a rose
in a garden or cut
one is alive
the other not for long
a murdered friendship
time to cut my throat
and shut the hell up
Arthur Vaso Apr 5
A mystical lake
deep in a hidden forest
simmering sunsets
ferns swaying softly in the shallows
there lived a bevy of Swans
content in their surrounding of tranquility
both graceful and majestic, except for one
the ugliest swan, draped in muddy black
tolerated, he would swim amongst the others
quietly, he lived in his tears
for the one he admired the most
stayed far away
on the other side of the lake
Arthur Vaso Apr 2
I have flown here
to whisper sweet words
from beyond

the silent voice
blinded by love
and the fluttering of wings

her voice soft and sweet
reciting prose and verse
from old stories of lore

veiled in this mist of heartbreak
no longer yearning for the light
the bells toll, loud and deep into the night

years before, bone and blood
waiting for the false promises of spring
now the seasons just sad recollections

time to leave
fly back among the stars
and fade away
Arthur Vaso Apr 2
Within days
to lose your eyesight
fear boils from inside
darkness complete
never mind to drive away
racing cars impossible
retinas now stars in the sky
now that I am the passenger
in my own car, along for the ride
I observe
now I truly see
I did go about 90% from detached Retinas, and very scary indeed, however they can now operate on this and had my eyesight completely restored, so for about a month had to rely on good friends and neighbours to get about, we did have some fun, my neighbour didn't have a car and was thrilled to death to race around with mine. It is true, that when you can not see, sometimes you see more of who people are and the world around you. A valuable lesson indeed.
Arthur Vaso Apr 1
I am no Romeo
other than good at dying
romance is for the beautiful
I miss the most essential of ingredients
         paintings now only black
                   poetry that never dries
                                a garden that no longer blooms
I walk alone in the forest
gazing  down at dead foliage
scattered bones among the leaves
I hear the faint sound of an animals chant
before I realize
it was from a time long ago
Arthur Vaso Mar 30
I rather sticks and stones
words mean too much to me
a poet embracing ugliness
to be called it once
is a sword in the stomach
to be called it twice
a thousand arrows in the heart
to lose a friend
dreadful is this agony
to be blind
yet to see inside
misery
Arthur Vaso Mar 28
I sat there
in the dark
staring at emptiness
the room grey with dust
my mind as empty as the bottle
I noticed three small black dots
lying in the corner
as dead as me

Then, a spirit stirred
Invisible to a teary eye
the black dots moved
and grew
      and grew

Now they are up in the sky
out of reach
from human touch

One is the Sun
the other the Moon
the third my heart
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