I stood upon the horizon
As the sun crowned the day,
The people became beautiful,
Each in their own momentary truth:

The sun star rose
And the light mounted the sea,
The livid wound that is man and woman
Became a broken statue in stone
Flawed by time and suffering;
Death in a time of life!

     In the city an ebony man
     Holds the pyramid at the bottom
     Of the scheme, he is unearthed
     By a bullet not colorblind,
     The song of a lost boy from
     The wonderful ghetto explodes
     And a stone is thrown.

The ripples are;
Eyes see, man feels
His heart yearns for better or
Something more, all he can turn
To is less, shadows of history link
Themselves in a chain and drag
Man into himself, there a giant
Mirror hovers over his sky.

    New York, Saudi Arabia, Bangladesh.
    Shadow cover the heart and man
    Becomes a feverish animal
    That swarms himself,
    Proud and lonesome I see below
    His heart  and money uprooted his
    His natural flow
    (Domesticated bipeds acting out like
    Four legged beasts, though sadly
    Man knows it and does what?)

And yet there birthed within himself
Was given a gift so lovely as the forms
That man throbs with hope;
Stretching the heart into the living
hour man can see the light,
Truth comes into being
And fills himself with an ironic
Harmony. Here, now, we will
Never be this beautiful again,
The beauty is heavy with minutes
As each fade into eternity's
Shimmering river.

    Man's thoughts are split,
    They meander, think something
    Wondrous and split again
    Becoming entangled in a
    Delta of endless rivers flowing
    With the actions of ignorance.
    Must the rush of life be lived
    So rushed?

Day after day,
His mind cannot embody the forms,
The hostility grinding at each other,
The mirror inside liquefied
Into hopelessness and the body
Of his body becomes a tree
Of actions, risen out history's
Roots, roots which lay seeds,
Seeds which become his actions.

"If you live long enough in the dark,
          You can see and appreciate
                  Everything in the light"

                       Dedpoet

What voice would reach you,
People who speak destruction,
With end time tones or in
The poetry of Bukowski?
So primitive in modern times,
Simple and complex;
Angels and demons.

You are the people,
Future devastation of our
Children with its spilling blood
And still praying to some peace
Loving god.

You are strong but empty,
Proud by unsure,
Cultured and diverse,
You oppose:
One another.

You are ****** and Jesus,
Mohamed and Napoleon,
Breaking the world and healing
The sick,
(You are your own worst enemy,
And your only friend)

You think life is ******,
That progress is martyrdom,
That the future is not on this
World;
             Yes.

You people are grand and powerful,
Whenever a belief is found
A profound shudder of ideals
Shakes the world,
And an enormous backbone
Of righteousness in the name of;
And the stars are yours,
Wether in hope or in a last dying glance
Before death,
Wealth and prosperity
Join faith and religion
To conquest one another,
Raising reason to live, to die.

You have consulted God
Which preserve your right to make
And destroy and to ****,
The footprints of blood money,
(Whose name is a star spangled
Atrocity)
Catholic,Muslim, Christian, Jewish,Hindu:
All humanity.

You are a bed of roses with
Thorns exposed.

Oh precious people,
Where has your humanity gone?

I could swim in your oceanic eyes;
But when you give me that look
You lay dynamite on my iron skin
And you open me like a wound:

Spirit of fire that burns
Like a blade of sunlight
I sacrifice myself as I die
Into you, you ancient name of fire;

And your temper between the jaws
In the abstract geometry you propose
Lays me in an impassive torture
And you load ghosts of yesterday
Into Tomorrowland,
My cry and the cries of the torturer.

Be it the first dawn,
The last dawn,
We are bigger than the night
But the dream of us fits on the bed,
The bed of rain,
The bed of storms,
The liquidity of our bodies
As the moon wakes and asks
For our spirituality,
Souls entwined, we tear the night apart;

But we aren't always in the mood
At the same time,
Vehement bodies on invisible clocks
We can't see ticking,
You speak in Winter,
I speak in Summer;
Our words vanish like
Syllables of vertigo;
We are lost between the argument.

For all the good and the bad
I would make love with you
At the precipice,
Hanging at the cliff;
To fall in love or fall to our death,
Each is a timeless matter
And through it all I
Know that I am alive between
The polar shifts.

I'm eating bean and cheese,
Suicide bomber attacks airline;
I spill some salsa
And the body count isn't in yet.
There is no suspense here,
Just tacos and the horrible news;

I change the channel
And look for my huevos rancheros,
Terror does not exist anymore
But the salsa stain remains.

I can't find a metaphor
To illustrate the happenings -
The death that demolished my hope,
A tornado of things darkly in my mind.

All in a moment when CNN broadcast
The latest mass killings,
Inside my bones the weightless dust
Lifts off my body like ash.
I sit in a bar,
No I sit in a chair with these flaring
Interminable news,
I miss the silences,
A formidable peace followed
By a singular moment when I
Can enjoy myself against
The flaunting horrors of the world.

Is it designed this way?
Death with a volley of dark stories,
I want to stop fidgeting and ignore
The tears, the sadness,
Oh the maddening crowds!!

I drink to my disgust,
I drink a concoction of inner peace,
And I smile and ask myself,
Is there any joy in tragedy?

Wing of hovering bird
Just above the steadying ships,
Woman on the pier
Waiting with unchaste lips.

Sailor under moons
Praying like a king of saints,
All taming lust,
Into her arms he wanes.

Untamed horses
Gallop upon the fields,
Prisms of the man
From what woman's touch may yield.

Home from hostile waves
To drink angelic milk,
Touch by his angel
Skin like woven silk.

Upon the ground sturdy
He lays his heavy head,
Follow thy *****
To the woman he is now led.

"It's only a poem,
Dont read so much into it."
      
             Dedpoet

At the crossroads
Where life takes a turn,
Just in from regret alley
When it starts to burn.
Begin again at the dead end,
Take a detour fall in love
And take in a best friend,
Keeping head just above
Drowning just around the bend,
Left turn,
Right,
It doesn't matter where time lends,
We end up at a choice
At the Crossroads,
We begin again.

I am 37:
Writing a poem I wonder of the words
And an echo forms into my very fabric,
I sit in my chair and the pen begins;

I am 12 years old
And mother is dying in front me breathing
Her last breaths as a bullet takes her from me,
I see the quarter moon and pray for mercy;

The quarter moon stands in a night
Filled with wonder and
I am 32 years old when I find out my
Daughters exist, all that came before
Comes together in the moment I find
Out they are mine;

And the moment is an algorithm
Of change that never really changes,
I am 15 years old and she looks deeply
Into my soul and tells me she is ready,
I enter her,
The time is phosphorescent;

In the afterglow
I am 47 and I have not yet begun
To live, but my days are ending
Because I could not control my urges
And the alcohol eats my liver as my daughters
Cry for their father;

My daughters cry for their father
Reaching out to me,
And I am 34 years old when I see
That this is something to cherish and
I immerse myself into the moment
And all things seem to stand still,
Timelessness, yet it all must pass
To become forever;

I am 37 years old,
All stands still.....
The years passing away.