When the delights
Became the norm,
And the spring roses
You planted failed because
You bought that stupid bike,
And my personality
Lost its person,
When one more is all we needed
For an empty bottle
To match the drapes of our
Talks,
This place I loved
Became a Hell,
And home is where the
Heart is,
Surely he is a real estate agent.

Third eye blinded,
And the pictures you
Sent wouldn't download
When I couldn't make
In time and the spaces
Make for long distance relationship,
I can hear another voice,
Retaliation of the missing,
Work into an alcoholic
And rage the machinist
By needing more and more.

It wasn't enough that I'm
Impaled onto supports,
The kid should be mine,
Just can't be there
So I'm replaced by a loser
Who refuses to make money,
But can make me when I'm not around,
Away to support you,
Supporting me,
I in me
Without you
And working for the nothing
I've become.

It wasn't a smooth journey,
Twists and turns at every corner
And there were whispered words
Of a premature death among the discord
Of his selfish persona, he wanted to
Know what it's like when you die.

Along the extreme elongated portico
Held in captivating glory of falling sun
Attached to a man sitting on sunsets
Alone in a chair with an empty coffee cup,
Dedpoet wrote his final verses:

I am not the harmonious fluke,
But the orchestrated chaos of the soul,
I flee no challenges, save life, whose teeth
Have sunken deeply as two rivals
At once, I am the coronation of effigies
Whom laughed behind their masked
Intentions, I sit on the pedestal of irony.

I strung magic words like pearls
And spoke like winged creatures through
Gentle air, both volatile strings pulled
Because the violins were in tune,
Alas, I am the curse to mine own life,
The fool who believes in love,
Both lovely and perverse,
My soul is a crystal pale glance
With moist and starry eyed conflicts,
I destroy the flower with regrets.

And now at the precious end
I gallantly provide a word of lasting torture,
Meet me at the gallows,
A sun with a court of stars
And let us fade into the light
As though into the shadows.

I hide behind the little things
So the world won't find me,
If you search hard enough
You'll know what really matters
And there I will see you.

The November air brushed
Against your scarlet dress
(I get lost in it's waves just
Reminiscing about it)
   It contorts to the shape
Of your body hidden beneath
And drowns the world in stillness-
  All the world's watching you.

  The littlest thing to me
Is the doorway to the meaning
Of everything I don't think about
And that's what makes them
So very big.

It is as though the fire wears
Them,
     A slow burning sacrifice between
Ecstatic generations,
    A sort of martyrdom comes in the
Line of each death,
    The endlessly bloodstained embers
Burnt beneath the tears
   Of those left in the wounds of time.
Alas,
    Every seedling is a grain of energy
In the marrow of the earth,
    So alone with so many
Spilling themselves like fountains
In an anonymous well.
     The question remains
As their days become fewer
Like the few Winter's leaves.
        They enter one another
By the eyes,
They speak in tongues of season
      And yet come upon a last dawn
Seemingly with great depths
Of abyss in a solemn heart.
        The dreams that survive them
Are children lost in a mist,
    Stuck in a whirlwind
Surrounded by Dust.

Most endearing beloved,

    Today at Midwinter's eye, I saw you under
The sun, a drop of light as it were under
The shimmery snow you stood upon.
And in the image of God we were made,
I'd like to think he made the portrait
Just for me, a delightful immortal
Image that dances even at night around
The round moon of January's cold.

    I cannot give you more than
You have just given me as though
You bestowed upon me a spoonful
Of star, and as I walked I saw your
butterfly's journey, the ringing of
Freedom's bell, I rejoice in the perfect
Memory as though an angel would pass
Here on earth to witness a miracle
And then swiftly return to eternity.
     But what I can offer you is the music
Of sky upon water, the depth of a diamond's
Gaze; the birth of Springtime in your
Eyes,the eternity in a flash which is the
Whole of my life, I offer you the foam of
The beach where we will make love,
I will swim in your rivery hair and not
Drown, I offer you my soul dancing
In a forest with tree flowers and adventure
On the rainiest days, I give you a child
That has not been born but knows
You as Mother, the miracle is you love.
I give you the ground I walk on, and all
The little birds and animals you can fathom.

Take these my humble gifts,
    My love eternal,
              
            Dedpoet

P.S. Also take the skies and all the stars,
All that I wish for you.

Petrified,
        Obsidian stones,
Fire understood,
      Superfluous verbiages;
The mangled butterfly absorbed by light,
       Hope is born at the tongue,
Confirmation contorted,
     Clarification of the crystalline cries;
  In the whirlpool of the first
Swirling at the tip of the tongue
     Chanted in a litany of animalistic
Nature,
       There is only a man,
Singing solar solstice,
     Staring into sun stars
Splitting solitary shadows,
     The end of the beginning,
Man and fires
Speak the dust,
       Tears of the evocative death,
Rebirth in memory,
Memorial in melancholia,
Misty eyed men mention losses,
      Speak the grief,
Speak the rage,
         Man that is man,
Tongue of emotional images,
                Speak as the first word,
A tree of names,
      Yes, the word,
Words,
       The poem everlasting
Longing to be unspoken.

Every birth that card played out
When lucky hand
Pan handled gold,
Zesty children of the moment
With hollowed souls
And metaphor presences,
Penetrate the eyes when
Spoken to,
Spilled in blood like words
Of worlds long gone,
Whispers at the end
Begging for new beginnings.

And time before it began was yours

Had you only seen what death
           death heeds in
A mournful source
        Battered by memory
At present too late.

I apologise on behalf
Of myself,
I am not here at present;
I will be here later
When I am in a reflection
On a mirror which was
Born by the ripples of memory
On an empty ocean of my thoughts
Which mirror a light in
The spectrum the eyes cannot
Fathom.
And I will say what I should
Have just as my tongue fell
To the floor at that time
When my mind was elsewhere.
I apologise
Because I wanted to be there
In the moment,
But my moment was elsewhere
In a time past
Or in a time to come
When I will not be there either,
And I will miss it then too,
And catch myself
Later from the time before
Or that which never happend.

And every place is terrible
When at present the mind
Is somewhere else.

Pieces in the mist,
The living waters:

The melancholic grace of
Sorrow,
The crow sings for the dead.

The nostalgic réminiscence,
Joyful frames in the afterglow.

All is a stillframe
In time's gallery.

So you are a man,
Shackled,
A man that weaves
Together fear and confusion
Beyond what is known skin deep,
A man overblown with
Certain landscapes and familiarity.

What words come out
From your version of Heaven,
From your Heaven to other lands,
The red winds that blow deep
Tickling strings of rhetoric

Listen,
You are what misunderstood
Like a certain star that refuses
To pass light in certain spectra,
Different star,
Wrong star,
Dying star,
And your sky will be taken away
By hypnotic cages
And civilized torture

Speak, speak a confession citizen
When you are found
Guilty and your manhood
Is bled into submission,
     You will see no sunsets,
You will bear a cross never your own

You, man,
Born in the tide of crystalline confusion,
The world is predicted
And the tombs are full of
The innocent by faith

I tell you because I am a man,
And I do not know what kind you are

Problems, they are problems,
Is it you who blow up the constellations?
You dance on the heels of Jihad,
Do you not?
Are you not guilty by faith?
Now that the angels cry,
Tossed into the fray of which God
Is holier,
Tell me, is this fair,
Fair the torment,
Fair the fear,
Fair the justice of manipulation?

Answer me, answer me
Man of faith,
Because I too am confused,
I am bound by love of country,
Yet tormented by ethics and morals,
****** this humanity!

Now, now I must know,
I am splintered into many people,
However I am also your friend,
The day burns with rhetoric,
I do not know you man,
I cannot seem to help you,
Much less help my understanding
And soon,
Soon I am called unpatriotic,
They shall call me traitor,
Because I wish to understand.

All I say,
All I know,
Tell me,
Why have they caged you?
Say nothing,
I can't believe you,
Say everything,
I doubt every breath.

And now I speak as a man,
I speak to you,
I am a poet,
And to write humanity is my curse,
No allusions,
No metaphorical terms,
You Muslim,
You Man,
I do not understand:
    
          On the moon God watches
          On the wind the angels cry,
          And men do not speak,
          They cannot understand.

Hugs....
How you've known I needed
Them I will never know,
But what can I say, I do.
And when I read your reflection
On my words,
I cam stop what Im doing
And read my poem again,
And then I cam hug myself,
You calmed my climatic
Mind from shattering
Its self against the wall
Of my own making,
And that wall,
Well I can calm it down.

What is it about Patty M?
A simple seemingly pure
Heart in a world where fake to
survive seems to be the order
Of the day,
And when her words
Like mine, I can hug the
World again,
Because Patty M hugged
Me when no one else could,
Her words are not metaphoric;

She heals my broken self,
Because she meant it,
And I know that something
Is real about that,

So here's to you Patty M
From the Ded Poet:

H.    H.  U.     U.   GGGGG
H.    H.  U.     U.   G
HHHH. U.     U.   G.    GG
H.    H.  U.     U.   G.        G
H.    H.  UUUU.    GGGGG

It was along the ancient rivers
Where the waters break themselves against
The stones, smooth and polished,
Among the seedlings called words.

In thought, well let us call it mythic
Theory, the river was exposed to the thirst
Of the first men, those who wished an
extension of themselves to the universe.

With a constellation to start them with,
The first Word arose after the first man
Drank from it, the word was Hope
and he picked a small star to mark the moment.

The river was infested with verbs and metaphors,
The man was thirsty for words and description,
He drank with mermaids and sea creatures
From the magnetic water that dripped with life words.

Once he had his share, before he became a poet,
He had to learn a lesson important to being
What he so desperatly wanted to express,
The touch of a woman.....

On a night that was felt as though ten moons
Across, he lay with a first woman as he repeated
The first word into his heart, Hope, the audacious
Nature bother heartfelt and genuine.

And the next day as the sun spring forth the light,
He woke alone and a sudden cold entered,
His passion untamed, his heart recognizes
the abyss, and he began a song of words.:

He who belonged to no one,
Suddenly belongs to the word,
The word was his foundation
And the magic was born in a sullen pain.

A poet was born from a river,
The words a passionate abyss,
The perfect pattern from God,
The verse was born from his heart.

I favored it like grandmothers
Cooking on a brisk
Sunday,
Where dream days came
Flocking like seasonal birds,
A tune played out
Like the last hymn of Psalms,
The words wear me
Like an old Winter coat,
Every syllable
I dang off beat and kiltered
The notes as lovely
As Springtime nuance,
I need no splendor of view
As long as the rich melody
That memory dangled along
I can sing like broken mandalays,
My song which does haunt
And I am grateful
I cant get it out of my head.

Is not in my pen,
Not in these words.
Not in my breath,
Speaking broken verbs.

It not my book
Of lost sorrows,
Or writing audascious
Hopes for lost tomorrows.

It is when I fight
To get out of here,
Lost in the poem
With life oytside so near.

The curse of words
Is that we are there but not,
Writing thé moments
Where present eas forgot.

I take the time
To take the time,
A moment in its pursest
With no reason or rhyme.

Just be.

The light has a pulse.
There is no in between of darkness.
This perception is the only reality,
What we touch and see
Under the limited spectrum
Our eyes are allowed.
         My eyes see nothing,
My hands feel worlds,
         My thoughts create the shadows,
In the shadows I cry for the light,
        The light scatters my world,
On the other side
        Light cannot see me in the dark.

I'm a United States citizen,
Fifth generation,
And I might be sent back to Mexico.
  Because in the here of the now
  The people stand at the crest
  Of the paper moon,
  Its almost eclipsed
  Because Obama was
  Never more than words.
So we look for anything,
We are thirsting for something,
And the Trump card falls
Into place, he's full of ****,
But he's full of **** in
Full public.
See we know the establiment
Needs to be dis- established
Because they sing like mockingbirds
To another mockingbird,
And Hillary the woman
Is still a politician:
    Oh the patriot,
    ****** fool.
    He still believes
    In America!
    And why cry the democracy?
    Why poetise the political?
And the patriot said-
          Because I am what I am,
          For love of country,
          Freedom of my freedom,
          I am the people,
          We are the voice,
          And America once had a dream.

I walk the city, the city clean
Where the sun is brighter on this side,
I keep my head straight no to be seen,
Though all my guilt can I cannot hide.

When the dove sings below me I can hear,
When the child suffers I do understand,
Where my conscience bundles up its fear
Before the child does raise her hand.

I carry no hope or miracle for the child
But I probably should spare the change,
To leave her in this city wild,
Would a dollar or pennies ease her pain?

With head straight forward I continue a march,
Pockets jingle past the innocent poor,
Walking past my burning heart,
I wonder if Heaven for her will open a door.

At this hour the walls are black,
They breathe with apparitions as
The sky splits open,
     I am alone as the sun dial walks
Across the stone bodies,
    Where there were once streets and homes
Now lay in waste filled with your
Silhouette of silver memory,
Vast as my Earth at the crossroads
Of eight directions I walk through
a gallery of echoes and the infamy
Of the present,
And the verbiage of the moment carries
       Your luminous spectre,
A master of reflections,
     The dialogue of a lonely poet....

I am but a poem haunted by your ghost,
petrified by the frame of your spectral silhouette.

What I write is an expression,
One that I can never just tell
You.

What I say I couldn't write because
I never meant to hurt you.

That's the poem
And you,
The difference
Is reading one
From the other.

I, who longed to be someone else,
To weigh my words in the scales
Of judgments, to read poetry,
To hand  out my own,
Will see the world invade even here
In this place, once thought to be
An Eden of words, a place to begin again.
I see that I am at last here to face
My destiny, carried by the ruinous envy
And hatred in a war of words,
The intricate labyrinth that are verses
Designed to weave their way through
A site where philosophical change
Of the human condition can be
Discovered and even nurtured
Through words is being held hostage
By those who would not sacrifice ego's
Grasp to better the world around them.

I am an honest man,
With my open book of lies
That my poetry is a kind of reflection
On the life I have been blessed to see,
That poetry is the key to dealing
With all my years, to see the perfection
In desolation that was the beauty of
Some mysterious higher power,
That in the lampshade I write the
Eternal nocturne and I see the world's
true faces, I wait for the circle to close.

And the war of self should not spread
To those whom seek refuge from
Inner shadows, to spar with words is a ridicule
To this artful mirror.
Bow the wars of the self have spread
To poets, and the truth of poetry
Is not that of hope, but something
Much more powerful, the true nature
Of the person, which is animalistic
No matter the pretty words.
And the truth crosses my throat
As a jaded knife,
Poetry wars, oh the humanity.

Should I throw a rock at your head,
Or should some ornate stone in passion
Be flung that it may open your mind?
There is a poem,
Natural in its state of emotional honesty,
And a bird can be on a branch crapping
On your windshield,
Or upon morning's first light
A golden bird gleams among
The verdant branches like
Emeralds in a feast of crystalline
Fields set aglow by calling stars.
      Still the truth of the poem
And its severed beauty is that it
Does not lie among the constant
Heart, that frail and vicious
Emotionally challenged furnace,
And the words are compared
Like a rare comet vs. a constant star.
       Holes in the words
Sap a poets blood, so he films them
With passions of flame and struggle,
And from fire to fire he spills
Himself within the pen.
     From here to eternity's moment,
They will never slay his thirsting,
From verses that hold him,
To words that overtake even the spirit
Where his poems are forged like some
Ancient blacksmith
Beating together steel wings
To fly the world over for one mans
Fiery thought come to life ,
And he is a star and a begging dog,
A broken hearted moon,
A fragment of dead things
And alive in his words,
Before he dies he wants his
Soul to shed its poetry.

The profits of words
In the night that becomes us,
We the nocturnal poets,
Divinities of the good nights
When benevolence soars
As the pen avenges the light;
Constellation of the return,
Coming to rip the hope from regret
And all dissolves into a pen,
Inklings that become the umbilical
Cord between now and then,
Present and tomorrow
Are written for the sake of hope,
Because yesterday is usually
A sad poem.

Quarter hour gone, I reinvent myself
Born from the volcanic melancholy,
The fire that burns
In the moments we want
Those moment's time,
Here and now,
Words are the quarter hour's
Fulfillment at the poets
Expense.

It begins here,
Undecipherable death.

The dying of the light
With tearful glazed eyes.

Here the soul is at a pause
Waiting to be set free,
A hurried rush to Awaken.

- the body fights to last breaths

Drowning in the world
Drinking life's waters,
The soul swims free.

Far ahead,
A darkness in the light...

And the soul has eyes that see
All things all at once in the lives
Lived underrated and unfulfilled.

-the body wants to live

The shadow grows deep
As sky black becomes a fertile
Ground upon which the soul
Glides watching a piece of everything.

Upon the immensely empty darkness
The light surrounds it,
Suddenly the soul realizes the abyss
Is within, calling itself humanity.

- the flesh craves life

Like a forest of insomnia
Suddenly awakened by a fire,
The soul sees all its lives lived.

The life is dried up,
The river has no source
And the living waters are dried:

Vanish soul,
Awaken in the corridor of wombs,
Be born again and fill
The bottomless being,
   The pregnant life
Of a tired soul awaiting the depths
Of understanding, confusingly conflicting.

- the body wants to feel

This is the bottom
Where souls meet and find
That the darkness resides inside them,
A silence befalls all-

Become the ocean that fills itself,,
Contemplate the premature death
Of stars that we constellated to
Our hopes and dreams,
Piece together the eclipse of understanding
That had escaped you until
Now,
The spiral concludes,
Immortal soul that cannot find
The light,
Children of the Master,
Return and fill the void,
You will hear in every life
That you have filled one cup
At a time,
And when you realize that your
Ordinary was extraordinary
Then the void is filled
And we return to our celestial navigation.

-the body wants to live

I can't take it,
So I wrap it up
As a gift of words,
And poetry becomes
An emotion,
And I can be,
And I can live,
Here right now,
Poetry,
Life in words.

There I stood,
Alone as ever,
Hated because I chose and let go,
I wanted,
So I let the cadence go
So I could change my tune
And new witnesses testified
And the new ME was born.

I had to let em go.
They loved me tben
And hate me now.
I gave tbem all they could handle,
And tbere at the edge I jumped
And became ME,
WHERE NO ONE FROM THE PAST
COULD SEE ME,
OVER THE EDGE AND TO A DEATH
AND REBIRTH,
such is tbe true change.

What remains
Of little words spoken. ...
The dreams far and away
Taken like thieves,
Only a little stays
In words written upon
A wonderful tombstone.

Over the wide cold earth,
You walk back to the door,
By the fleeting pain I endure,
I don't know whether to open
Or close this chapter.
     You come lukewarm in color
And shivering with guilt,
My heart yearns to open the door,
From a word yet to he spoken,
      The essential within which was us
Before you left,
You wear a coat of tears as your
Hand placed flat against the door,
     I feel its presence
And place mine the same.
How much of the soul
      Do you want to **** in me,
To forgive you, to hold you?
Should this be the final sky
    From whence ocean tides once
Touched us, even as gentle air,
Should I open the door in full anguish
In this flowering sorrow,
    My heart nostalgic and broken?

Black soul
      Scattered night
Tearing the pain apart,
The reality awakens
Into the dream and asks,
"Who am I?"
A shadow forms.

Asleep in a bed or rain
Life sings melancholic bliss,
The sparks surrounding dark,
A flicker of moments.

Many handed thoughts
Interrogate the clarity,
Entering by manipulation,
Only the pain is real.

I soak in the ethereal
And speak in a mist,
The emptiness understands,
I return in a blood language.

Truth is I have never
Seen the truth,
In as much as a broken soul
Wanders looking for the Source,
Or reason,
I scattered bits and pieces left by
The Light,
Finding sparks in the darkness,
In truth the reality is
I dont know if I really
Care,
The unknown is all there is.

The days can raise colorless
Born among mysterious everybodies,
The Sad Ones carry shreds of darkness
With them tangled in the fringes
Of their lives.
They cannot drag another down,
They give happiness where
None can be taken,
They can illuminate
The saddest people and take
Their pain like an offering.
They walk among the souls
With silent faces and drowsy
Existence.
The Sad Ones
Disperse into the Winters' depths
Where winter honors grey days
And starless nights.
From their secrets or pains
Come a gathered endurance
And can illuminate with
A wisdom of regret and sorrow,
Like colored plumes of dark flora
They roam spinkled among
The masses to bring the bright side
Of things they know nothing of.

They have wings,
The Sad Ones do,
Gentle but firm wings gilded
In murmured words never spoken,
Winds of the lovers never taken,
Watching moonrises
Over sighing waves.
Their home is a lonely peak
Where clouds sit on mountains
And forever remain,
There they reflect on the sadness
Of most kisses and symbolic love.
And they are forgotten when
The people encounter them,
Though misery loves
A little company, the others do not
Stay in the dark.

The Sad Ones,
They are dreams forgotten,
A smile returning,
The bring about the light for others
In their dark lonesome hearts,
They are hidden away like memory,

And they keep other smiling
As they sigh above the moonlit waves
Sighing in the darkness.

More than light,
In a land of woven echoes,
       Memory cascades between
A diaphanous glow and kisses
    The lips of eternal waters.

There was a promised life
Given to a certain girl,
Down from the train,
A black girl named Jula.

    Who are you Jula?
    Jula knows her name.

Jula! Master plays his song,
(The voice of money)
- help around the house,
Help around the rooms,
Help for me Jula!

   Jula knows her name.

Jula was called to be whatever
Master needed,
To look to his desireous needs,
Jula just a girl.

Come Jula,
Take me away to better days,
Dance for me Jula!
(Voice of the Master)

    Jula bathes in a wooden
    Barrel, she got no shoes,
    Go Jula, serve like royalty,
    Go Jula, shine like my star!
    Sing for me Jula!

Jula knows her name:

  "They say that God knows all,
    So He knows Jula and made
    Her life like it is,
    This is Jula's destiny,
    God made it this way"
Now Master preaches.

  Jula knows her name,
  Who are YOU Jula?

Jula, mistress of the Master,
Put him to bed,
Naked she lay next to him,
Jula, she knows her name.

   Who are you Jula?
   You just a little girl,
   Where is your song?

The Master calls,
The Master's hands tired
From wielding the whip,
Come here Jula!
Come here Jula!
The slave girl stripped,
The slave girl *****,
Jula knows her name.

   Jula, where is my food?
   Master tired from the whippin',
    Master needs his food,
     Jula know her name.

Jula, who are you Jula?
Jula knows her name.

The present is still,
But the mountainous rage against
Thoughts and realities collide and I
Realise they have been there since
The beginning:

Look at her,
Ageless in my memory
As the light and the dust settle
In a dance,
     A windmill of her love,
The walk of her figure under said
Moonlight,
Oh the anger entangled because she
Isn't here anymore,
          
     The present is still:
The floodgates of bullets whipping by,
     The nightmares flashing,
A fallen angel before my eyes,
The child cries God!!!!
And to a child mother is God,
    Gone with the waters,
I drown in a tortured river.

     Between what I see and what
I know now I become a dazzled
Flame dancing in a spherical nature,
     A battalion of storms
And the rage within me marches on.

The present is motionless,
But the rage of regret
Is a fountain of reality floating
On a cloud of reflections,
      Where has my lover gone?
She left and it was the best for
Both of us,right?
I agreed to disagree with myself,
       Under grey skies
A flock of crows dispersed
Just before the thunder.....
     In thoughts I chew my nails
Down to my wrist,
The fire burns inside and charrs my heart,
My black jewel
Asleep between her *******,
How I miss you woman!

The present is still:
My daughters cry Daddy!
Echoes of they who are not there,
The transparent moment  is a petrified
Storm,
The sky becomes a deep abyss,
Black clouds over black days,
Daddy isn't there.
Fist strikes the flesh,
     The storm is human
And it rages on inside me,
The precipitation is a drop
Of solitude for every deep thought,,
    My eyes open and close,
Phosphorus regret with downed eyelid.

The moment is still,
But the storm rages on.......

Between the horizons
The imprisoned night,
Fallen from the grace
Of the solitary star.

Over mountain tops
With a bridal cap,
All is transparent
In the Light.

The sun moves
The living Waters
Under glittering gushes
And a sparkle as it rests.

The naked light
In mother of pearl
Glazing the morning mist
In a feast of reflection.

Like a lovers reunion,
The eyes kiss all that
Is lit as sky falls
Under shade.

The living star
In a fugitive passion
Brightens the forms,
The sun sees no light.

I began to think myself
Special in an expanse of odd,
Where nothing can stay
Only whispers in a mist....

Speak your desire,
Touch my soul to begin
Its proper growth and expose me,
I only speak of that which
Ignorant cannot fathom,

And the soul is a yo yo,
Life on a string of theories,
Swaying to the whistle
And play of God's plan.

I awoke in faded aspirations
Fulfilling the solicitations
Of her body,
Crime and passion
Without order and no constraints
On what time it actually is:

And look at at you,
Your hungover yet its with
Slow motion in film,
A kodak momentum
And you end up taking my smokes,
Last time it was the beer,
Im smiling this time,
And I know my tequila morning
Still has a scent of lime,
And I find hope in your half
Finished smoke,
I light the cherry
And i taste your lips,
With you it just gets worse
And im grateful for it,
You have a grace
That refills my drink
Of accepted frustrations, the good stress,
Because we know what we see
Together, what faith to
Destructive grace,
The real struggle is to miss you
Like my bed does,
And yes I want my mistakes to mean something even if i never learn,
Il be with you,
And with the bad
You take the good,
And the bad you didn't
Know they had,
Loyalty and blind
Raptured moments,
Woman....
              
woman......

**** I feel alive

Dozing the life in worthless ink:
It is the ink that calls forth something
Deeper hurling itself forth from
The depths of everything that is
   You Poet,
          You Poetess.
Your thoughts that gallop and gallop
As your you birth inklings but fill
Nothing and return to stagnant water.
    
A second ago your poem had
A hundred hearts that cheered
And the words were over their faces
As the rootless poem of me, me ,me
Was given and the lightning was
Given out of habitual commonality.
    
I invite you dig up Rage!

Rage, not only against the dying
Of the light,
For yesterday is tomorrow's
Memory, tomorrow is today,
I invite you not to die of death,
     But to die of life!
Fill the words with rage,
That of the current event that
Moves nations, birth the poem
Of sacrifice, become the metaphorical
Martyr, you are a Poet Saint!
Rage,
    Deep in the immense crystalline
    Soul that cries to fill the void,
Become the tree firmly rooted
But still dances with the fury
Of the wind!
Rage,
   Speak the truth of the world,
   Fight with words of the inequality for
   Those that cannot speak,
   Become their rage!
Rage,
   There a homeless child
   With no lucky star of her own,
   And the words will fill you,
   They will devour the abyss
   And you will rage against
   The flowering of nothing's bloom!!
Rage,
   Dig deep and see the world
    With words that become differences,
    With a shining of the light
    Where darkness was before,
Rage,
   And the words will become you,
   The poet and the sacrifice,
   So be it if the poem only has
   Two hearts, unpopular as it
   May seem, it is a reflection
   Of the guilt they carry.
Rage,
   You Poet,
You Poetess,
    The world needs Poet Saints.

And I answered:
To see and touch all that I forgot,
To remember the delta where
Immense waters rushed to
My memory's melodic forms.
     To remember that ***** that
     Broke my heart,
     How I loved her,
     Look at all the poems
     I wrote for her!
To feel the livid wounds
Of everyone fester about
Like domesticated bipeds,
Watch them grow entangled
Beneath a shivering sun.
        To read the crazy beautiful
        Of other people's thoughts
        And get in their heads without
        Psychological babblings
        And manipulation.
To watch the shadowless sun
Create a phantom city
In the concrete swarms,
To stretch every sense
Into the living moment.
      To catch myself from splitting,
      Or perhaps to split from myself
      And call me crazy,
      Laugh it off and cry
      When I read it again.
To embody what I miss
With these fucken cell phones
And internet opinions
With elongated voices
Lonely, their kind of
Misery loves company after all.

      Why the poem?
      Ask yourself,
      What else is there??

And how I became you
Was a unanimous glory
That filled every breath
With with "Hallelujah"

And there for the saviour
Was the creation of your
Bathed light, that which birthed
The man I want to be.

I knew you from before
When our melancholic grace
Danced the beleaguered Edge
And the fall from grace wasnt
So bad,

When the pale moon danced
And passed the dark rose
Of your neck to my vampiric
Lusts, bllod lines of our intense
Passions.

You cannot see how i need you,
There would be no air
To fill the lungs of the world, as the last breath will call your name....

This is how:
And the Heavens parted
When the seductress was given
Its first light born of the
Fires in your eyes delivered
By the scorn of my regret,
Words are juat figments of thought,
But here in the poem Melissa's
Beat is adorned with Deds
Conundrum;
How can I die into you
When I am more alive
And torn from my usual pain,
The right of passage is delayed,
I cannot leave the sorrows *****,
I am Ded inside,
I destroy the beauty inside,
I am lost because U ignited
The life inside the words
And alive is having never lived.

Yes I love you.

But your reasons:
I am slave to thoughts
And i am everywhere
But never where i should be,
And in my rush i trip
Over your miracle,
How to break the curse im your
Soul with the blessed curse of
My love?

I quesyion the moon in your eyes,
The luminescent smile
That lit my way back from
The poem,
And i return only because
The poem wiill reflect
The magnitude of you.

It was death that brought me
To you.
And life is more with u in it,
Show me how to live woman,
Bevause I was Ded,
Now I cannot see past the third Heaven.
Because my eyes are only
Visions of your essence,
I want to bathe you with
My touch,
Adorn you with my kiss
A crown of them so you know
I blaspheme the world
As you are my new one.
I crave you because the hunger
Is a practical wanting, needing
Only your miracle,
I broke thee chains and declared
Myself enslaved to your every need and want
Fulfilled as the man
Only wants one woman,
The unclaimed has no calling,
So you cannot hear me.

Your reasons hurt,
They blled questions
And entertain the fool,
And for Mellissa,
A thousand times Ded,
But without you I do not
Belong here,
The world is not for me.
And before the words exalt
You, before I say
One last time i want your body
Becoming a noun on your breast, a verb on your thigh,
Every ****** a stanza...
Melissa adorned with legs on eternal
Wings falling from graces tears,
Take me Home,
You are not here for my life
But to pass me into death
For the reasons you simply cannot.

I will not face it without you.
And what else can a poem say
But only that i love you
And my soul will find you again
In the next life
Dancing with u in 122.

This little life of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine:
      Even with dark forces
        Riding in like four horses
      Making corpses
     Of all that I love
      And care for,
    What are they there for
      When all that I dare for
      Is taken into the apocalypse
        and my life gets alot of lips
     Talking, but I walk in no man's land,
       I am the island to myself
       The force of my nature
        Dont let the hater
         Bother me now or later,
       This little life ,
  Crazy majestic,
       The belittled strife,
       I can just taste it,
Bittersweet,
      I'm gonna gonna let it shine;
     And the darkness surrounds me.

Me,
A rebellion's echo
In a war of patterns,
Dwelling.

Take me into myself,
Tinker on the past,
Realty sinks in the mud
With footprints of what ifs.

Don't close your eyes,
The wind has just begun
To sing her song,
The rain had just fallen
To tickle the windows.

And the sounds are an enchantment,
The song of the humming storm
As the night reveals herself,
She is a wondrous traveller
Who catches falling meteors
And turns them into flashing lights,
She waters the ground intent on
Life giving life.

Don't sleep,
The rhythmic nature
Of her kissing the glass,
The crystals she hangs to
Shine in a morning dew
For a magical beginning!

Don't sleep,
She rumbles a world
To isolate the imagination
Between the mind and a pillow
She lulls one to a different world.

And when you do sleep,
Your dreams will be as a lightning's
Child free into the sky
Shooting up into space
Where dreams are born.

There is a thought
Inside a man
Who swears the idea can
Change the world.
On his forehead the sweat draws
Itself to the contours of his
Face in confirmation,
The essence of intentions with
Only good in mind.

And when the thought is brought
Out into the open
The idea breathes itself into existence
And takes the form of a polished
Feature of morality.

In the idea the light shines in the darkness
Of the world and it becomes
An ideal that leads men into
Action based on the purest intent
At the very center of the idea.

The idea becomes cannon
Like a holy scripture found
In the darkest deepest cave lost
To the oblivion and found by
A flame that feeds itself
With fires of ideas and burns
The whole of himself for the sake
Of the thought.

In these men intent and action
Can be seen,
Born of an idea with light at its
Core and purest intention
Of the heart,
And one can see the idea burns
The whole of a part of the world.

Spirit ole highschool,
Fight fight fight.
Naive taking on the
Whole **** thing.

Bein' I in team,
Strolling thinkin smart
Looking the other way.

And I saw the storm
Of my time,
Blew me away,
Cant fight the sky,
Always pours
Or burns ya...

Losing what I aint ever
Really owned,
Fought to get it back
Cuz it wasnt mine,

Fire breathing mad man,
Nah just *******
Thinkin knew it all
And all turned nuthin.

Became aware that
I wasnt....
Help is when you
Ask for it,
And Pride falls like
Titan and giant's 'like.

Woke up,
Grateful and I ain't fallin'
Below that 'ver 'gain.

I walk between life and death,
The hours when the days are like
Stakes to the nocturnal heart.
   And I know a walk among tombstones
Is a like a fresh death when the earth
Is covered with scarlet and scenic
Flowers,
    I can already write my death on
The slab as clearly as I see the onset
Of the dusk upon my sun.
   And I know to be dead is but another
Interminable word,
   Like the carnival rides of my childhood,
Lost in a crowd but thrillingly unknown.
   Tonight the stars speak a hope
In a new year, and all the years disappear like
Geese to the North,
   Like Gnarls of teeth locked in a mongrels
Cry behind enclosed yards.
     I am ready to die,
But instead I will write death and
Write a verse to make one think
One knows the true beauty of life,
    Like the insufferably brilliant
Deaths of heroes told in myth
And legend,
    A dissolved illusion to the real illustration
Caught between worlds of perceptions.
     I see death on a dance floor,
A psalm sung and written by me
As my soul whirls the words in spectral
Atoms and lost in the momentary
Eternity.
       And I remember I'm a just a man
With Latin blood spitting
From the womb of my mother.
    And I am on the same side as my heart,
The hourglass fades,
The brutal eyes of truth facing me,
Fierce and unredeeming,
I dance with death,
And there is nothing I can do now.
I have nothing to prove I was here,
Except the poem
And even the words will fade.
Except the song I wrote for death,
It plays over and over
And death dances eternal.

I woke in the haze of
Tequila breath and a beautiful
Regret,
Naked and alone,
I can smell the nicotine on
The kiss that stayed in
My hangover,
An empty bottle with
The lipstick she left behind,
Round and round
The room spinning
And my head thundering
Like the storm of echoes
When the ***** seduced,
Funny im alone
And hurting, hungover
And grateful.

Today and into some deep of the dawn
I became the night,
A dense whisper when
Silence is at its loudest and
Secrets form from desparate
Lovers swollen with lust
Like the red of a stolen
Crimson moon,
And the blood into my body became
Luminosity as the places
I vagranted into thr nocturnal
Kingdoms stood still
And time tied together into a knot
And my constellation was this verse,
The dawn sees me as a dangling
Metaphor with no particular
Meaning,
Only today and into dawn
As the first birds moaned
And the worms decayed bodies,
I was not the desolation
Of the bodies of the last lines,
Instead i was freed with the rising
Sun lost in the light
Blind at the brightest
Morning and nothing was all
I could muster.

Today I spun a web
And thought how your curves
Shatter the moon,
I think far into myself
And receive the death I deserve,
Die into me,

I reconciled with the ways
Of your touch
And split open the thesaurus,
No words.....

Today a web
And the spindle is your
Caress when I am the salt
Of my sweat,
There is peace there,
The silken threads
Of your world,
And I would be happy a fly.

I do not feel alive so much as when
I am Dedpoet. I do not suffer as my
Alter ego, but I do suffer as a simple
Living being. I do not feel alive as a
Christian, or even a Muslim, or at times
When I am a Pagan. If my name were
Edgar Allan Poe, I would still feel
The sufferings, but not so much alive.
Today I suffer from something deeper,
And being alive is part of the dilemma.

This suffering comes and has no explanation,
It is a sorrow so deep that I feel it was
With me alone in the womb. Where is the
Excitement of life? Where is the fulfilled
Feeling of completed goals? Is it because
I have nothing, so nothing comes
Full circle and becomes a reason?
My depression comes from everywhere,
Like four winds of sorrow spinning
A compass. If I was shot down and taken
From this place, my suffering would
Still be the same, if I came back
Reincarnated I would feel this abyss
Even only in a different body.

I look at the pain of a dying man,
He says goodbye and rights what he can
To those he wronged, But I can find
No redemptive cure for this emptied
Hole inside myself, I am simply in depression.

I always believed a higher power would
Give me a miracle cure for this suffering,
But one's belief is merely the precursor
To death and another life when the suffering
Would end in the divine promise, which is
To say we must be here to suffer and believe
The next life will he a better one. I look at the stars
And wonder about light and dark,
But I have no epiphany, today I am depressed,
Simply and utterly, no matter what happens,
Today is what I feel.