If you accept this woven fate,
So fearlessly you charge ahead,
There is no more time to hesitate.

Don't be despair in your head,
Live with any more regrets,
In the face of that certain hurt.

Don't mourn on this lost love that fell,
Gentleman doesn't go only to Hell,
Celebrate your inner strengths to heal.

Maybe you will meet her again,
In the twilight of the gods,
One day against all odds.

Since birth you learned,
You know how to survive,
Because you are still alive.

A new world can reborn,
On your devastated ground,
It is up to you to spin the wheel.

If I painted a picture of you
I think I’d call it Daniel and his Favorite Cigarette
and I’d delay passing the sugar
because you couldn’t wait four more seconds
for your daughter to finish her story.
I would buy all of the newspapers in town
with the crummy headline Fauster & Brown
Up in Sales for 3rd Week Straight and burn them
all the way through to the sports section
just to watch your favorite team’s numbers
go up in flames. I would rewrite
all those Father’s Day cards, remove the empty seat
in the third row on the left from my poetry reading
that I had reserved, stop putting new batteries
in the remote when you complains. But of course

I won’t. I’ll just make a scene at Sunday brunch
after we finish saying prayers to my dead big brother
at his grave, that dash like a tattoo on my bones—
Yes, Dad, I could have worn a tie
but I like the fact that I still smell like yesterday
cause I know my brother will never know
the scent of tomorrow. I will only curse
between sips of coffee and I’ll stroke my sisters hair
so she knows at least someone has been listening
these past ten years.

Ever seen the darkness shake ?
like the serpentine spine of a blood red snake
vibrations sent to the core of your soul,
burning your mind like simmering coal,
clamber for the light in your claustrophobic space
the demons in the shadows know your face
the tears wont fall just stay in your eyes
whilst all around you everything dies
dance the macabre its the only way
whirling dervish no time to pray
the ancient rhythms too much to resist
it eats you away like a cancerous cyst.

As the world puts on its coat
we step into an old photograph
forever frozen in time,
waiting for the bell to chime
looking back as all turns to stone
futures unfold in the blink of an eye
opening gambits and unlit cigarettes
laying alone in the darkness
with only tears and regrets.

By the end of winter
hind the canopy of leaves
they build a chaotic nest.

She sits meditative
he stands watchful
and once only my eyes could intrude
four bluish white nuggets.

When in the first winds of summer
dance the mango buds
small wings would ache
not to fly beyond mother's love.

But she knows no time to waste
so they too on the next winter
gather twigs for a nest.

I am walking.
Pushed slightly, by the northeast.
My companion yellow in color,
fondles the air with his muzzle.

Our strides take us forward.
Galloping cracked pavement.
Exploring familiar arch ways,
of hemlock and bittersweets.  

Our view is panoramic.
With flights honking in the distance,
as they return to the waking land.

We huddle at the top.
Where we watch the day,
tuck away into eves pocket.

This light is special.
It is a sensation of nothing,
and everything.

It fills you and the land,
with just enough.
Then swiftly dims away.

Leaving softly.
Is truly a perfect,
ending.