Above the spine of snow,
Calm ,white; and here floats
Ice crystals from a dead storm,
And there in the snow a child wins
With a snow ***** chance.

The frozen scapes- grey nostalgia-
With a peculiar memory
Recalls itself in its snowy drifts
And mania like senile tundra.

To add the sum of January
In enthusiastic forms of child play
Like a snow man in fleeces,
The memory is fused.

And far away,
Dreaming maybe of an abstract
Freeze in the heartfelt snow
A child is warmed by the memory.

Oh Aztec watching from your
Rustic home, for my dignity
Do you have any advice?
For my poor state of being,any riches?
No wisdom for my inexperience?

Oh Aztec warrior who lays brick
For homes he will never own,
Don't you understand by right of
Superiority and sweat and blood
And tears from tyranny this should
Be your dream as well?!

Don't you see the Spaniards robbed
You once and the Europeans once again
Stole what is rightfully yours?
Don't you know you are Aztec?

Aztec, mighty spear in hand,
Or is that a shovel?
Your eyes with proud gleam in them,
Or is that a tear of despair?
What are you here for Aztec?
Why have you silenced the dreams?

Oh race of my forefathers,
Bring about the impenetrable heart,
The joy with pleasure,
The suffering with grief;
Tears of the Aztec sun!
Yours is the blood in my veins,
By that blood blank stares at the
Liquor stores,
I swear by that blood that I will
Rise once again and once more
Into the day of my life and fill
My song with a forgotten pride,
I will wonder where the Aztec
Has gone, though his dream
Remains unseen, his people
Remain in shards.

Each vulture has its ugly profile
As if abruptly God did not feather
Its face.
Yet its pure flight with enflamed
Eyes that see the dead as they leave
The body, it perches among the oak
Under the hilly peaks.
His featherless face like a hanging
Veil from the face of the sky.
There among the fields of death,
Wings like a sudden dark cuirass
He cruises like an ancient idol
Wrapped in air,
His talons like daggers into
The sacrificed.
He goes deep into the sky enveloped
In splendid light watching souls
Leave the enormous earth.

Insanity is a somber flow of waters;
Its rain above the gentle mind
Is a murmur of moaning thoughts
Ina crooked wind, a subtle chill
In the distant breeze.

Suddenness like air breathed
In torn skies, among the vivid blue,
The thoughts collapsed to the startled
Earth like a great ceiling of copper
And shadow.

The Asylum beneath the slow shadows
In a lunatic fringe upon thistle fields,
Flowering Insanity's bloom like
A vibrant Willow under a filtered sun.

The liquid pain in tangled clots
Of distant sanity unlocking
A rapid downpour of condensed
Versions in reality's mixed afternoon.

The Asylum takes in the deep grief,
The rain takes a pause,
The day long and sad,
In the greyish distance the light
Hits though the smallest window.

Restless eyes,
The luminaries winking,
The night, as if were
The Moon's stage of solitude
Shines vast in the nocturnal glory,
Revealing silken flattery,
The gentle light caresses.

There is a connection
Of the luminal glow
To the eyes whose mind is
Trapped in a cavernous shadow
While fathoming uselessly
Unto the revolving clockwork
Of living,
Like a trance between
An unknown familiarity.

Thoughts carve out timelines
In jigsaw's grip,
The Moon is a portal
In deafening silence,
Faceless memories guided
By forgotten constellations and
One realises the depth of life
And the race of time,
And come sweet soul searching
In the needs of the spirit while
Trembling from regret.

The solitude is an ocean
Keeping one afloat in a
Suspended profile,
Crystalline clarity like a mirror
In polyhedrons,
So much reflection in restlessness.

And we can drown
In this ocean bathed in the Moon,
Like reliving or redoing
All the past making it so
Pure only our souls know
The life lived in another version.

When the thoughts calm
Into the the minds realignment,
The light becomes forgotten
And the nocturnally calm of the spirit
Flies to live another life;
All that remains is the solitude.

A rolling hill
With suffocating oaks
Under the dire grey of sky
Pass along the dire straits
Of the Ded.

And the Ded do speak
Like silent auras wandering
In poetical forms,
From the Ded they embrace
The pain and sad skies.

Slowly they walk the desolations
And bring forth the balance
Of the darkness's and a
Black rose blooms.

Once alive the Ded searched
For hope;
But the self absorption
In the heavy skies
In the mind's prison
Hold a still terror,
The Ded walk among marble slabs
Of light.

When I was young
And a stranger to the world,
With an empty canvas of imaginings
And rhymes,
A fiery red blaster at my hip,
My spirit submitting to the innocence;
My remembrance holds in its selective
Elegance an always evolving memory,
Distinct and treasured
And my soul renders itself
To the innocence of the
The infinite possibilities
Of the moment.

Polychromatic lovers-
I open a window,
Open wide toward radiance
That descends into the primitive
Depths of a fiery spirit,
There upon a mural splendid
I did see like into dreams
With incomprehensible clarity....
Windows like lights reflecting moons
And daily the gaze fills the abyss
Open wide toward uncertainty
And hallucinating destinies,
Window, open window,
Crystalline glass of the soul.

Swat the butterflies whose wings
Decieve the poem and inscribes
Its colored brilliance on gilded flights;
There is no grace to his clunky
Flying and brings repetitive hooplah
To the natural poem and steals
Its personable voice.

Every language has a flow of poetry
Whose inner soul derives of the
Course of one's harmony and rhythm,
And using a star of butterflies in every
Poem brings about the very sameness
We all suffer from daily.

See the beauty in a vulture
Whose glide is magnificent
Spreading his wings in silent
Flight above rolling hills.

His beauty is not that of the
Butterfly, but it's flight is undeniably
Graceful and finding its natural
Poetic flow is deeper still.

The days can raise colorless
Born among mysterious everybodies,
The Sad Ones carry shreds of darkness
With them tangled in the fringes
Of their lives.
They cannot drag another down,
They give happiness where
None can be taken,
They can illuminate
The saddest people and take
Their pain like an offering.
They walk among the souls
With silent faces and drowsy
Existence.
The Sad Ones
Disperse into the Winters' depths
Where winter honors grey days
And starless nights.
From their secrets or pains
Come a gathered endurance
And can illuminate with
A wisdom of regret and sorrow,
Like colored plumes of dark flora
They roam spinkled among
The masses to bring the bright side
Of things they know nothing of.

They have wings,
The Sad Ones do,
Gentle but firm wings gilded
In murmured words never spoken,
Winds of the lovers never taken,
Watching moonrises
Over sighing waves.
Their home is a lonely peak
Where clouds sit on mountains
And forever remain,
There they reflect on the sadness
Of most kisses and symbolic love.
And they are forgotten when
The people encounter them,
Though misery loves
A little company, the others do not
Stay in the dark.

The Sad Ones,
They are dreams forgotten,
A smile returning,
The bring about the light for others
In their dark lonesome hearts,
They are hidden away like memory,

And they keep other smiling
As they sigh above the moonlit waves
Sighing in the darkness.