The devil on main street
had his flower-shop in the corner.
He sold roses,
red ones,
white ones,
and even black ones.
He soon fell in love
with one of his buyers,
a lovely brunette
with stardust eyes.
In one point of time
She fell in love too.
They acted like couples
and did well with the shop.
Months goes by
she fell out of love,
the florist feels despair
the roses wilted soon after.
The white roses became red
with the devils blood,
The red ones became black
with his soul.
He left for hell,
xeriscaping gardens
for the young girl’s view.
a garden of everlasting roses
a garden of dreams
a garden of love
emerged from the darkest corners of hell
for the young girl
taught the devil love.

maybe if I try to write,
I would feel sincerity again,
drowning into the pages and lines
of truths and fallacies,
maybe if I learn how to dance,
all doubts will shed along with pain,
maybe if I sing a song,
I can compose and express but not to please
maybe if I paint an artwork,
I would accept having you as my lovely subject,
in sceneries of memories, at the stroke of tender nostalgia
maybe if I interfere in the duel of both my mind and heart,
one takes over freely and I venture a new start.

but who am I to even stand armor-less,
battling against the uncertainties?

IA

on this small speck of dust
suspended in the gravity of celestial bodies
our beliefs,
our imagined self-importance,
our delusion that that we have a privileged position in the universe,
are questioned
by ourselves
in search
of absolute truth

Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since  "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,

Not even a second since you.