When I was a much younger man, I hiked the moorland,
my mother was Welsh, and the dry rolling hills spoke to my soul.
I'd trudge on through the forgotten paths, and daydream of my darling.
The wind it whipped like ethereal hands, tugging at my clothes
like a crazed lover.
But I was alone, out there on the moorlands.
Not a human in sight, such things make us feel most human.
I'd slip the flask from my hip pocket, and down a dram of scotch from the little metal cup,
and make love to the solitude. So much emptiness, so much loveliness.
The nights were especially cold, and harsh, I would spread my blanket
across the crunchy permafrost, and curl up into a ball.
Half awake, my feet tucked into my pack, I would hear music.
No instruments, just a vocal melody.
The words were unclear, but the feeling, it could only be love.
Years have passed, it seems like ages, since I walked the fields of my youth.
Now I have a family, and I find that I can still hear the music.
It is stronger, and it is clearer. In the rays of the morning sun,
with my family sleeping peacefully, I finally understand the song.
"Live, and Love my lovelies, ignore the cold. Sleep and dream,
in the morning you will wake up, the sun will be shining, and you will be loved."
This morning, dawn breaks so sweetly, and I quickly forget the insults of days past,
the hassles at the airport, and the trials of the day.
For the first time in however many years, as my loved ones gently snore
in their beds, spread out across two continents, I open my eyes, and I can still hear the music.
This melody is mine, no, it is ours, and you can hear it if you listen,
for it is the melody of love, and we all share it, whether we serve love or not,
We are loved.


A Burns 2012

When things go wrong as they sometimes will
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill.
 
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile but you have to sigh.
 
When care is pressing you down abit
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.
 
Life is full of twist and turns,
as everyone of u sometimes learns.
 
Many a failure turns about
when he might have won had he stuck it out.
 
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow,
you may succeed with another go.
 
Success is failure turned inside out,
the silver tint of the cloud of doubt.
 
You never can tell how close you are,
it may be near when it seems so far.
 
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
it’s when things seem worst
that you must not quit.

Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.

Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.

On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.

But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.

Cada vez que quizás me llamas
me desorganizas la vida.
Cuando ya creía hallar calma
de nuevo  el corazón agitas.

Sé que todavía no entiendes
que sin querer  causas dolor
porque lo que tú ahora sientes
es incomparable a mi amor.


Pretendes volver amistad
lo que fue profunda pasión,
mas yo aún no puedo cambiar
aquella tierna sensación
que tú persigues separar
de lo que es de cierto el amor,
justo entre mujer y varón.

Tú no cedes, y yo tampoco
tal  que así seguirá la vida
y me traerás como loco
cada que me llames o escribas.

Jorge Gómez A.