I believe there is a monster inside all of us
Insidious in nature, but all so fragile
Begging to be tamed

Tamed and loved.
Love is the only guarentee to peace
But every thing in this life meets its end and must be mourned before it can be fully appreciated

My monster lost its peace, now I'm restless.
Lashing out and acting out of character
Is this who I become after getting every thing I prayed for?

The fleeting moments of recalled joy in between the weight of loss make him hesitate.
But he has tasted the other side of his nature and yearns for it again

And he will seek it the only way he knows how, violence until peace can be found again.
I am just as foolish as him, this time hoping it sticks around.

Incredible—
I can make poetry out of anything:
from the tree,
the wheat,
the chaff,
the sea,
the stars,
the sky itself
in all its infinite beauty.

From the good, the bad,
the light and the dark—
everything in nature
becomes verse in my hands.

Will you be part
of this strange art of mine?
Because your eyes
belong to another world—
you’re not from here,
I’m sure of it.

If you were, I would have seen you before,
and I think I would have fallen for you
again
and again.

It’s hard not to look.
I don’t even hear your footsteps
when they pass me by—
heading toward someone else, of course.

But that’s fine.
Even with my skin shivering,
I make your chest my target,
and like darts,
I throw my verses.

It’s always easier to write poetry
about a masterpiece of nature—
but one thing I know for certain:
you are not from here.

Beneath the earth
   Things grow and turn

Beneath the dirt
     Wealth glows and burns

Beneath the skin
       Beauty shows and churns

Beneath the whim
         Greed forever yearns

Beneath the sky
           Trust mends and earns

Beneath the why
             Answers hold and learn

Beneath the thoughts
               Actions live wild and firm

Beneath the highs
                 Love does survive

Beneath the truth
                   You shall arrive

Beneath the fruit
                     Life redefines

Beneath the lie
                       None can deny

Beneath your roots
                         There you will lie

I was thinking about the hornero bird today
how it builds its little house
Really, God gives it everything
just like that, for free
So why doesn’t He do the same for me?
Tell me where to find the clay
install in my mind
the coordinates
to build my home
and be
happy in it

The interesting thing about
gardens
is that they usually
have a beginning and an end
I am a garden
I need to set my white fences
put up signs
“Do not step on the grass”
label each flower with its name
water them every day
pull out the weeds
use poison so the insects
won’t hurt them
also breathe in their scent
feel the delicacy of the petals
and, no less important,
admire all the work done

When I was younger
I loved tulips, but it was
because
there was a girl
holding a tulip on the cover
of a book
I loved that story
But now
I like daisies
Maybe one day my daughter’s name will be Daisy
I like them
because they are simple
they bother no one
they have their own sun at their center
and around it, many angels
make harmony
dancing to the most sublime songs

Everything in life is a process
It’s more about letting go and learning to stay
There is no control
Only cycles and adaptation
Here’s the question:
Do trees cry when their leaves fall in autumn?
They mix into the ground
a blessing to the soil
a party for some passing child
Even the tree understands
that not everything is meant to stay
But from what goes away
a new beginning is born in its place

Green grass,
the scent and colors of wildflowers,
and on the face, a smile that remembers springtimes
while the sun gently caresses them
and bathes them in its warmth.

White daisies
dance proudly in the breeze
as if to say:
we are happy just as we are,
and need nothing more.

Summer’s heat weaves its fingers
and adds a shade of yellow
to the canvas of beautiful plants,
excessive and merciless,
while they beg for the last drops of rain.

Something has grown quiet.
Looking at those once-lovely blades of grass
I now see
an invisible thread that binds us
in the whirlpool of memories.
At times, a weary smile appears,
accompanied by restless longing.