When you choose to end it all
I hope you remember me
I hope that I gave you something good enough
Something at least

When you choose to end it all
I hope it’s not because you are alone
I hope you can know that you still have so much here
You don’t have to do this on your own

When you choose to end it all
I hope you don’t
I hope you sleep

And when you’re given the choice
To sit out or dance
I hope you dance

Secrets create,
Enemies and friends.
Can start new trends.
Reveal new tech.
Endanger peace.
Turn blue to red.
Secret whispers.

Secrets welcome.
Extra income.
Conditional love.
Regretful outcomes.
Emotional sin.
The hidden grin.
Secret whispers.

Secret sounds.
Entrapped inside.
Craves to be found.
Results in lies.
Eats till it dies,
Till realized.
Secret whispers, do not hide.

over two billion people
these days are waiting to commemorate
the birth of one whom they consider
humankind‘s savior

it happened more than 2000 years ago

since then it has not really been established
from what he has saved us

looking at our history
does not help much either

maybe this is a good thing
such indeterminacy can be quite uplifting

after all
who does not like to be saved?

The moment you forget.
Mind wanders with regret.
Eyes blurred, lose focus.
“What’s my current purpose?”

Is spontaneous enough?
Chasing a dream, tough.
As a child we rushed,
what was all the fuss?

The lost moment finds.
The lost moment unwinds.
The lost moment reminds.
Messes with our minds.

In that moment there is clarity.
We connect with our reality.
Understand humanity.
Endless possibilities.
Test our comfortability.

A chance to breathe.
Rebirth and see.
Are we where
we want to be?

Take that lost moment,
to reset your focus.
To find yourself and
your new found purpose.

EVIL rides in SUVs with the windows all blacked out.

HONOR                drives a plug in car that leaves no resdue behind.

APATHY rides in secondhand Nissans with the clear coat
                                flaking off.

CELEBRATION rides in limos with open tops for standing up in.

TRAGEDY            rides in a long black hearse with all the horses
                                under the hood.

BRAVERY drives a bright red Moped that cuts in and out of
                                traffic.

POVERTY must ride the bus in a much too long commute.

ARROGANCE drives an escalade that’s the fourth left turn on a
                                yellow.

BOREDOM drives a station wagon missing the left rear
                                hubcap.

PANIC        races in the family car where panting and blowing
                              isn't helping.

HAPPINESS       drives almost anything with a baby in the back
                              seat.
                    

MACHO ­       drives a Ford F350 with wheels even bigger than
                               his ego.

MELTING *** preens in a souped-up Chevy that dances like a
                                hip-hop star.    

PRETEEN       rides a bicycle and dreams of a Mustang.

YOUTH      hauls *** in a Jeep Wrangler with the rag top
                             down.

MIDLIFE CRISIS  rides a Harley in a group of seven on weekends.

OLD AGE    drives slowly in an ’83 Chrysler Imperial that
                           won't fit in the parking spaces.

LOVE   floats along on hopes and dreams and has no
                          need of wheels.

ljm

at times it seems
your future might be little else
but treasured memories
from your receding past

open the door, look outward,
let some light shine in
and remember

your life goes forward
not back

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

They called me a storm,
Because I ravage and destroy while I grow

They called me a tsunami,
Because I swallow you whole before I go

They called me an earthquake,
Because I break and demolish

They called me a eruption,
Because you suffocate while I flourish

Yet when we touched,
It was I who got damaged

When you smiled at me I realized why

You were human,
And you could destroy so much more than a natural disaster can.