Should the sky fall,
That is to say that you feel a crisis,
Just saying,
Grab a star and put it in your
Pocket, hold on to your continent
As it drifts,
Drain the ocean to the deserts
And gather unprecedented cactus flowers.

Should sky fall
Learn the world as it all falls by,
I mean it's just a thought,
Take the time to shed copper tears
And rain the wounds over
The heights that fall,
How much would be left of a splintered
Moon, planets whizzing by,
And yet here you are still
In your pity!

Gather the energy
Among the falling birds,
The comets with animals scurrying
About claiming new territory,
See! They make the best of their
Sorrow!

Lower your sorrows,
I tell you now,
The song of your sad poetry,
The rumors of the Earth's demise,
Calm your skies,
If it is night, look up out the window,
Count the hopeful stars,
And - I'm just saying-
If they are falling,
Catch them!
Then all your wishes and hopes
Are finally coming true!

I will die in the Westside
On some corner with a beer
In my hand, as if holding the lost
Scrolls of Atlantis.
I will die in the Westside-
And I won't be ashamed that
I am a drunken mess and my liver
Has swollen like my heart for
My dear neighborhood.
     It will be a Tuesday,
I will go back and find myself
Within the aloness with all the Yesterdays
Behind me.

Dedpoet is dead. The world beats him,
Although he never fought back;
It beat him hard with a stick....

There will be witnesses,
Nameless and I will not know them,
Only the solitude, the grey, the cold roads.....

I assume that you never
Knew the pure love we had
For you,
Your tiny body could not take
The world so we imagine
You went straight to become an angel.

You did not take a breath
Of the air I still breathe as i waited
For your cries,
That made two of us because
I could not breathe as you never
Made a sound.

I assume that you loved your
Mother so much you could
Not bear to be apart from
Her,
That you left to watch over her
In spirit qnd essence,
That she still leaves flowers
For you shows me she misses
You .

Of all the things you will never see
I hope i have seen enough
To know that i tried to live
For you,
That of all the days and every
Night we never had,
That my pain still lives,
As well as my love,
That i will be with you one day
And you can show me
All that i do not know
Of the Heavens and glories.

Your light shines somewhere
Too bright for this world,
I know that when my eyes close
For the final time your
Light will guide me home.

On the heart, which grows cold.
On the lips that dry as the air
Penetrates the softest kiss.

On the skin of a young woman,
Its frailty is the beauty of life
Which freezes in time.

On the magnificent glimmers
Of frozen mist on leaves,
December begins the grey.

The warmth of another holding
You and you holding them,
The glory of cold.

The miraculous cold which
Brings charitableness to homelessness
And gives hope on snowy days.

Cold like today
Which makes my hand write,
That makes me think warm things.

Most of my childhood friends are dead.
Time will grant you new ones, life said.
I want them back please! I pleaded.
All the same as they were!

I take in the nocturnal air
From a past that at present
Feels like yesterday's alive,

The quarter moon smiles, or frowns,
I cannot tell anymore,
Alone the night I walk with ghosts

And old voices that cannot say
Goodbye or hello, and the love
Remains, or the painful residue of it.

The life comes in long days
Some bright as my once there hope
Exceeding the lost, seems to outweigh
The gains,

All my dead friends
I walk a path once promised to
All them same,  radiant memories,

I was once with them a person
I hoped to be,
I want them back to find myself
As lost as I am now without.

I am absent from your reality,
Deep into the words
There waiting for myself to reappear.
In other things i imagine myself,
Away travelling in the universe
Of my mind,
Some places that i have never been
Are waiting for me to get there,
The depths of myself.

Im here in these words
In bits and pieces
That wanted me to turn into language
So i could express them,
The trees and the skies and
The world around that does
Bot speak but says more than
Anyone man.

I fall deeply
Away from flesh
And my spirit puts on the words
That the world cannot speak.

I speak not for myself
But that which language was invented
For,
That we might put into words
Such unspeakable beauty.

When they saw the first womb
Swooping to all that God had
Breathed into the Earth;
Even the angels fell
Cutting their Heavenly umbilical cord
Drifting alone and finding mortality
In an echo of the first sorrows.
    Even the angels fell
And flew among the wild Dahlia
Devastated at the temporary beauty
Of it all losing wings
And even hope with the impatience
Of a moth to life's flames;
   A final coup de Grace
With a blessed suffering of crimson
Wounds and crystalline years;
  
    Even the angels fell
And we are but men falling
Like vermilion embers in a solar
Flare of time,
Even then the angels knew
That men were wounded stars
That glimmer with such HOPE
And fade into God's eternal memory.

The compass spins
And the wind blows from all seasons,
We have just been born,
Ageless we are:

In the beginning
Entangled in eternity
Our destiny written on a star
That burned before us,
That lights worlds after us,
Out love cried out to the
Tortured Aloness and closed
The abyss filing eachother.
    
Explode!

The floodgates of my touch
Over your luminous silhouette,
Water and fire collide
Raining embers of eternity,
The present is stilled
And the fountain of reality
Stops as I take your hand;
We are the the precipices
Where sky and earth meet,
Dawn and dusk,
A spherical momentum.

The real love,
A geometric journey
As we invent new places
In eachother,
Echoes in dreams wide awake,
All points from full moons
To quarter suns,
I love you from all points,
Your diaphanous presence,
You are my world.

See,
     Unsee,
      Me:

Alone in a crowd
I pass through without circumstance,
    All the people
I talk to in my mind,
    Their eyes
Pass through me,
Outside me,
Aloneness within me;
  I am the circumstance.

Bymyself I am an architecture
Of peoples,
My mind invents crowds,
In the silence there is
        No silence.
I recover my breath
As I held along the faces
And they echo
Like footsteps in the hall.
    My obscurity
Is a whole world to myself,
    I speak
Without being heard,
Still the audience listens.
    I remember myself
In a sea of souls
And I speak to them all
As I reflect,
     A memory's echo
And I can still see them all;

The afternoon stands still,
     A woman walks by with
Autumn's grace
    And the murmurs of her
Silhouette enchant me,
Alone she has become real.
     The man whom played with
His daughter now evokes a music
In my my mind,
   He carries her in the gentle air.

Aloness is not sorrow,
It is a world in reflection.

You **** a reindeer while checking your hellopeotry account and driving.

2. Every Christmas Card you send has one of your poems in it.

3. At the family gathering you make everyone listen to one of your poems.

4. You write a poem about a romantic elf.

5. You send Santa a sonnet of what you want for Christmas.

6. You go to the mall Santa and ask him for one of your poems to become a daily.

7. Instead of gifts you pass out poems to loved ones.

8. You write a haiku about yellow snow.

9. You feel great sorrow for the turkey you are stuffing and write a poetic eulogy.

10. You buy yourself a brand new pen and pad and give it to yourself.

11. Instead of cookies and milk, you leave Santa a sonnet.

12. You ponder Rudolph's red nose and how rough he must have it.

13. You wrap the gifts with your poems hoping someone will actually read your poetry.

14. You write a poem titled "Black Friday" and make a wondrous philosophical poem about how the maddening crowds beat you to that 41inche flatscreen.

15. Instead of Christmas carols you stand and perform spoken word in front of neighbors homes.

16. You hold your kid's gifts hostage until they read your poems.

17. You write a poem about the holidays on hellopeotry.
(Yeah you know ones coming)

18. In a fit of poetical rage, you write how the elf's must be set free or get paid for what they do.

19. You write a farewell poem to 2016.
(Yeah you know its coming)

20. Last but not least: you might be a poet when Santa has you on the naughty list for writing cheesy poetry.
(Im guilty)