Poems are magnificent,
everything can be misunderstood.

Attempt to express what I feel,
all my anxiety, fears and hopes.
My inner entity, my inner creature
Au naturel everything in me.
My inner companion me
Some day it fears, my inner demon me
But otherwise sort of Buddha me
Enough of me

I need more words
to fill the gap.
I just cant connect
through the crackles of my consciousness.
have a crack to hone
Improve, progress just words of today,
in a negative way.

Some folks say life is awful, some say it's exceptional
Of course, everybody has another view.
But why the question? Is there an alternative?
I would not answer this rather I fear my inner voice.
Who makes me cry and want to answer.
Then I approve my answer.
Ideas swirling in my head,
Maybe brilliant but then it's gone.
Thinking to store these ideas, never works...
The past feels more realistic than now .
Try to erase some memories, never works...
Some are gone by itself, but not the feelings.
Where am I now? Is this later gone?

Remember erased an emotional masterpiece.
These days i discovered that human is empathetic,
Never saw that coming.
Ideas too fast in my brain.
Everything's a fragment
Exceptional everything
Even incomplete human being
Where am I? I am lost.

A little twitch of an idea rattles
Every other. Understand me?
Words are the best way to communicate
Whether talking or reading them.
Where are more words?
What impression can someone convey with so less amount of words.

The brain is fascinating,
The complexity is beautiful,
It can do many things,
Talking, Reading, Processing,
Everything is a product of brains,
Neuronal connection rule everything,
The only beauty about a bad expression.
Although just few people hear you,
Rendition is a sophisticated process to handle,
There are too many opportunities  to process.

Some notion will rest for the time being,
A long lifetime not for everyone,
There is something missing.
Another notion will resist to leave ,
If somebody is here, feel free to sense ecstasy,
Is the gap filled? Not enough, need more.

Made by Brain, human's most trickiest stronghold,
Former age was simplicity itself,
Hold everything plain to pretend mistakes,
This is a vast blemish.
Even nature appears simple,
But in reality it is the complicated thing on earth.

Simplicity is a virtue while expressing.
Another virtue is empathy,
to feel what others feel
Human is poorly at understanding other being...
... Misconceptions occur
Those virtues counteract themselves.

There she was
Helpless as could be
Something so simple
Yet was breaking her heart

And there I was
In the seat next to her
All I did was watch
As the tears rolling down her face
Became wet spots on the paper
Haunting the rest of her days

In life it seems
We only see opportunities
Once the chance to take them
Is gone

Opportunity to say the words
We've been wanting to say

Opportunity to save the day
Of the person we've always wanted to save

Opportunity to do what's right

I look back and all I see
All I see is
missed opportunities

“You miss 100% of the shots that you don't take.”
is a piece of wisdom that hits me loudly like a gunshot.
When I look into the fountain of my memories,
it's not blur water but pretty clear
that most of the stupidest things I ever did
were not the ones that actually happened.
They are the ones that I missed to pull the trigger.
Thus, they only happened in my minds' vivid fantasies.
Which make it seem so so real:
As if I could feel the touch of the loved one
who needed my hug and I didn't give it.
As I I could hear the words of apology
that were not even spoken in silence.
As if I could see the scenario that has never happened
and still waits for a true witness.
I make a guess,
it's part of life to miss some of the non-missed shots
where I still have the bullets for.
But from now on,
I take it in my hands.
***** it!
Forget the bow or pistole,
give me the bazooka.
I am not scared of shooting for the stars any more
because of scarcity of bullets.
I know by now..
where the ammunition is.

Lighthouse keeper by the shore, watching life pass he did the most
Eyeing ships, so bright and lively, that would sail near his post
'Til one fateful night one ship seemed to be set ablaze
Gravitating toward the sight that was a rarity in all his days
One door he swung open, leaving his beacon, bolting downstairs
Of peril and risk, he cared not; to him they seemed like minor fares
Fiery reflections undulated from afar as the keeper dashed to shore
Yanking his rowboat into the water, he paddled toward the source
Opening his eyes truly, he awoke to hands without a single oar
Under a guise he would man his post distractedly in the night
Realizing that the ship was a dream, he turned around to a fright
Precariously placed lanterns had fallen, shattering as he slept
And flames began to claim his home and post, as if collecting a debt
Sleep walking had moved him to the shore, by grace he was alive
The lighthouse keeper would rebuild, but this time he would thrive

Everyone has the right
to right their wrongs
as they write new
chapters that
might lead them
down the right
path
or
not

Sometimes the best things
Come from nowhere at all,
Rushing in like a summer wind,
Then gone a moment more.

Opportunities strike then fade into the darkness,
Life ever flowing,
Ebbing and changing, never staying the same.

After all, it wouldn't be interesting
If everything stayed the same.

the red light
stops me.

you are always there;
with your arms
full of flowers.

your flowers travel
in the passenger car seat
to the arms of a lover,
to the table of a hospital,
to the planks of a stage,
to a sanctuary.

and I wonder
if someone,
ever,
gave you flowers;
and if you ever
wanted
to be that lover,
or that patient,
or that actress,
or that saint.

I wonder
where you dreamed being at
when you were 10 years old.

¿what circumstances
ripped you off that dream
and put you over this
badly paved avenue?

the green light
illuminate us
again.