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Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
It's halfway through the week,
and the insides of my cheeks
are already peeling.
Feelings are numbing,
except the throbbing in my mind
pulsates.
I wait for the day
this race will end,
but until then
I'll endure.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
You say you're proud you're clean today
Yet you go back to your old ways
I look at you and see it's a reflection
Of my selfish days and
I realize it's me who's changed
There's two of us inside my head
Fighting for the chance to live
A wolf inside of my own brain
No wonder it's so difficult
This war within my mind I wage
No wonder I can't even think
Straight when the two halves of my heart Decide to break apart and
All I'm left with is the broken parts
Lying on the asphalt
Freeway crashes in my head
Locomotives in my brain
Is it my thoughts or is it a migraine
It's all the same
I'm on a train
Going no specific place
Failing
Derailing
I desperately want it to be a dream
Maybe if I stop thinking
It will all just go away
Drown my thoughts with mindless
Music so I lose track of the pain
Understand
My motives aren't insane
They're just a little out of place
I look at my reflection
I can't even recognize the face
Time to make amends
Attempt to fix the broken things
Shattered pieces vaguely
Remind me of all the times my wings
Failed me
I need somebody to save
We can get a little crazed
When we don't know when to stop
And I will crack open Pandora's box
And let the contents out
Right about the hour that I find the clock
has lost it's power
Sour consciousness distracts me from the task that is at hand
Focus on the destination
And enjoy the journey
It will never go as planned
But we can plan to make it worth it

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Dec 2014
ink
i won't let them hear
what they want to hear.
i'll hide my fears
or write them down in
tears from a pen.
i'll drown
the empty pages with ink;
venom to the mind,
and then
i'll start over again.

poisonous lines.

while, "all is fine"
i'll say.
when in reality
the only truth my muffled words
reveal is in the silence
that follows.
and since the calm
before the storm
is my storm
and this garden
is filled with thorns,
i'll burn everything i've ever known
and surround myself with
ashes
that allow me to let go.

don't leave me alone.

ARH
Alberto Ruiz Nov 2014
All I see, when I close my eyes
And dream

Is that I'm falling.

Yeah
     I'm
          Falling

For you.

The one who takes
my breath away
but leaves me with
more life instead,
for now my heart beats
for the girl who
leaves a sunrise  
in her wake
and forms a melody
within my soul
that sings of good
still in this world
and joy beyond
what the most beautifully crafted
words could show.

The one who makes
the stars burn bright at night
and yet whose tired eyes
inspire
and make any other sight

dull,

and now when my heart beats
it is for her.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Sep 2014
i'm about to finish a puzzle,
completing a portrait
to give me peace.
when the puzzle,
I soon find,
is broken;
there's a spot
with a missing piece.

the whole picture seems ruined
by the hole,
the hole
where something should be.
incompleteness
that once was masked
is now apparent
for all to see.

I open up the box
and find its contents
have been taken.
the piece that has been stolen
left the puzzle with no ending.
I draw out a replacement
as perfect as I can imagine,
but the hollow representation
cannot match
what once was.

I retrace all the steps I took
to get me to this point.
each puzzle piece which I had put
in order to make it work.
the last of all,
the one needed,
the one to complete me,
was given to the one who
needed it more
than I could give.

she has my final puzzle piece
and I have hers as well,
and I would gladly hand it over
time and time again.

she has my missing puzzle piece
and I have hers as well.
neither of our portraits can be complete
without the other's help.
and though this makes it difficult
to carry on as before,
I find the best puzzles require
more than just oneself.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Sep 2014
I took her breath away
not anticipating the consequences,
now she's grasping for air
and we're both helpless.
Love is senseless.
We share the same breathlessness.
What a lovely sentiment.
But too much of a good thing anywhere
can be suffocating,
and your lungs are failing.
So don't fall for me darling,

I'll only let you drown.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
I make promises that are empty
to fill the hole
where my heart should be.
Sometimes I feel like I'm living a lie
and the only one being fooled is me.
I try and ignore what I know,
yet I know what I hide
and I hide it in the snow.
While white on the outside
only I know my mind.

The truth is I'm still
doubting if it's mine.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
I can sense the distance thinning.
New horizons.
Old beginnings.
Flooded feelings from sinking
glaciers within me.
Distress in the workings of my mind.
Signs of the day.
Signs of decline.
An inside joke
between my heart
and my brain.
Have you ever felt the same way?
Maybe all this tearing apart
will lead to something better.
Or maybe,
maybe I'll just forget her
eyes.
Her hair.
The way she laughs.
The way she cared.

The way the ice even got there.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Sep 2014
You're walking on thin lines:
the ones that hold me up
to the sky.
It's fine.
I realize I will fly
regardless.
Yet
When your eyes don't shine
the night's are starless.
What good are wings
surrounded by darkness?

It's not that you're heartless,
it's just that your heart is
not quite where it's supposed to be.
It's with me and see,
I feel I should be free,
but free to go where
when my heart is nowhere
to be found
and my life is still up in the air?

I'm bound.
Life's not fair.
I don't care.
I'll continue to rise where you are,
and I'll make it there.
As long as you never stop lighting my way.
So continue to say what you say, love.

Sorry for the wait.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Oct 2014
I gazed out at the night to find
The moon shining  
Throughout the darkness:
Enveloping its surroundings
Only to pierce my mind in a way
The most stunning wonders can.
I couldn't help but remember
Your eyes full of galaxies and I
Experience a feeling reminiscent
Of the thought
Of one who's always on my mind.
There in the night remained
A moon that shone despite,
And one who's light
Reaches both of us.
And though divided at the time,
Our sight is fixated equally,
And I desperately believe we might
Shine despite the divide
If we try.
For I find that you are more lovely
Than a full moon at night,
You bring your own light.
And so do I.

[ARH]
Sandra Melton Mar 2019
ARH
Time to say goodbye to my summer romance
Like the light that dies for the winter snow
You filled my summer nights
And my head with such love you would have thought me dead before
Before I ever looked into such gorgeously intense hazel eyes
Brown for her pure love and green for her playful nature
Staying up late at night waiting for your text
Spending camp learning of each other in tender moments
Laughing never seemed so easy
It's so hard to laugh without the gut-wrenching memory of how you looked when you smiled and laughed with me
But I am content now
Content to see her beautiful face smile without me
Content to live without my first love
And I love her even more
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
I shall be telling this with a sigh.
That moment she put our heads together,
in the icy air of night,
seemed almost peaceful.

The sidewalks shone like alleys
of dropped maple leaves,
as we walked with a walk
that was measured and slow.

It was the darkest evening of the year
but between her and I,
all the heavens seemed to twinkle.
She was my North, my South, my East and West
in the heat and the cold
when no one else ever cared.

I thought that love would last forever:
I was wrong.
Her heart was learning to lie down forever.

To watch the woods filled up
with snow could be profound,
but only so an hour.
Then all is lost.
Stop all the clocks.
Cut off the stars.
Their greatness is a kind of grief.

I let her leave this place.
A final goodnight
as she drifted.
A black hole in space.
A final goodbye
as the stars started to fade.

I alone stay.
Last year is dead, they seem to say.
We cannot look back far
but not because of age.
Life is a stream
that sweeps us away.
The bitterness of the night matched the day.

As dawn goes down,
I have promises to keep.
Funny it seems, but by keeping
her end lost in dream,
I learned to walk without having feet.
Yet sometimes, in the distance,
I hear someone weep.
I taught myself to live without the constellations,
as I have miles to go before I sleep.

Miles to go before I sleep.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
You were electricity running through my veins
but the power lines broke
now I'm left in the rain;
soaked,
with only the sound of thunderstorms
around,
with you nowhere to be found.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
I rise
Chipping away at this ice
Thrilling
Finding my self-centered eyes
Chilling
Reflecting lies
Flooded feelings from sinking
Glaciers within me
Sigh
Rose-colored lenses
Blood on my hands
Fences in my mind
Senses on overdrive
The sky is upset
Yet
I try
But I can't fly
No more
My wings were cut and stored
Stories that were foretold
Maybe I got too close
The sun eclipsed
Bored
Into the ground I fell
Sore
Through the floor
Sounding down
Dove into the depths
Drowned
Wound up
That I'm lost
And found
Again
I go.

[ARH]
read through, then once more from bottom to top
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
I've got midnight eyes
and she's got sunrise.
My horizon tries,
but it just can't break free
from dusk.
It dawns on me.
Just my luck.
Wish upon a star
but it won't change much.
She deserves a galaxy,
a constellation's touch.
The best that I could give her
is a distant light
and such
is not alright.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
She reminds of a stormy night,
the way the the rain drops down on the windowsill:
beautiful, powerful, and fragile
at the same time.
She reminds me of a night sky:
the way the stars twinkle and shine like her eyes
which make me forget any other sight.
She is the sky and the seas,
full of life.
She is the sun and the moon,
full of light.
She is the only one of her
there ever has been
and ever will be,
and so surpasses any comparison
I might try.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
If poetry is all about being human,
tell me: what is life worth?
For every Shakespearean verse
appears another, less rehearsed.
If our race has no end,
tell me: where are we running to?
Life is in the journey,
or so say
those less traversed.
Perhaps the truth lies
within ourselves.
Our own deceiving silver tongues
and two-faced cries for help.
If we just keep on writing
will the words mean something
else?
Or maybe if we stop thinking
we'll free ourselves from hell.
The stroke of pen on paper.
The slicing of a throat.
Maybe being human
involves a bit of both.
As for I,
I'll keep on running:
barefoot towards the coast.
Yet the castle in the sky will be my final
au revoir.

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
Night falls,
as always.
Thoughts creep into your head,
old habits.
Sitting on the edge
of your bed,
you think about your day.
That sinking feeling that you always seem to get,
returns with vengeance as you try to rest.
The spiraling sentence that mirrors your mind
wraps around your conscious like a venomous snake.
"Is this real or fake?
Maybe I'm meant to break?"

[ARH]
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
I wish I could forget her,                  
But I can't.                                          
I had once heard                              
That it's better to have loved.
But lost I am inside the past.            
Her eyes,                                          
As dazzling as a turquoise sea.        
A gaze surely I                             
Could keep for eternity.                    
Her smile,                                          
A beacon of hope and light.            
A laugh that cured while                   Everything was made right.                  

She could break the walls         
around my heart.                              
She too could break all                  
She built, part by part.

[ARH]
Innocent until self-awareness. Frozen halo.forming formless pagans, to help start a holy war. Poet prophet. Poems used as garnish methods to people's insecurities. Consulting monks libraries. Cinnamon sigh, nicotine hitting bloodstreams, flower carpets, sullen and sudden in metaphors, concerto sweeping movements, yielding in romance, fruitful as flowers lay as carpet for Earth’s land.

Poetic romance

Destiny in romance

Love and lingering yearnings

Always chasing

It takes something more than confidence to allow yourself to be what you’ve always wanted to be and still go beyond. Inside or outside poetry

To whenever you find truth, you’re generally alone

Spike

Life is not a poem, let it be spontaneous, fulfilling of passion, with art following behind as art is created by it’s own deriving birth, it reveals meaning as its need to show in experience, as my eyes see nothing but dreams, roses at my feet, hopeless key to your heart. Eternally chase always. There’s something addictive to be in the yearning of life. Sometimes to live, is to endure, killing courage in the process. To be loved, hmmm, conflicting, I want to. Yet not brave enough to be. Being pulled apart.

Suffering more so from private imagination than in reality, making reality always looking softer

Eyes drunk upon original beauty,
yearning of love, nothing but a famous
thought, famed poetry. Tears of Muses,
it’s surprisingly overwhelming in addictive
waves, how divine anyone can become.
Sharing streams of consciousness with
one’s own Muse. For I stumbled upon
love, where their beauty had allured me
in, romance nothing but a cage. I dare
not to escape, for everything now has
Completely lost it’s value.

Without thy lover, sadness caught in my throat,
unable to speak and easily seen. Knowing it
isn’t impossible to express everything running
through the mind. Just in separate poems. I’m
only heading towards attention being the presence
of my lover, elevation in illumination, to everyone
else is mundane, dull and local, lacking in
substance, mystical attributes, originality. For my
Muse has left to that other place, leaving us to
be fully. For I will ****** the entire humanity
in exchange to spend forever with thy lover.
For now, I’ll accepting my soul-selling to thee.


There’s something addictive about the
romantic yearnings, that brings not only
meaning, it magical produces and highlights
one's own destiny. Poet, though it can
produce the most spellbinding poetry
while in this state. Do not dwell and embellish
it, garnishing it with poems. Always put in
the work and meditate over the time your
yearning changes from dreams to reality.

Muse, perhaps poetry is similar to philosophy,
questions without answers, just with romantic
overtones and beautiful veils that is all derived
from something dark and painful. To which to
poetry I can dedicate myself to, not only it
seduces me from it’s tempting words, pulling
me in, to which I thought where I would find love,
in the end, it heals my wounds. Leaving me
alone, asking if there is actual love, that poets
had been talking about, since Plato’s time.
But to each of us, that can provide this life a
particular talent and skill, matching our own
rhythm and suffering. I’m rubbing my skin against
poetry, words instead of fingers and breathing,
holding Nizsetche hands, walking into church
and bursting into a ball of flames, confessing
my own trembling desire, faces of poetry stepped
on to every step taken, thinking I’m being placed
on the hall of fame, I just turned sober and left
with the fall of shame. Not with innocence, my
life happens when I shut my eyes. Let the suffering
write out a new philosophy, just the smash everyone’s
own dreams.


I felt the absence of life in most,
so I turned to poetry for life instead
and felt no regret since. And there
is nothing as beautiful, than the life
I missed out on, as the life I experience
could make me smile, because no other
life could do.


Freedom, the secretive and conclusive gesture,
that life has bread in the either, echoing with it
in the air, perhaps it’s greater than love to the
poets. It is all that above, freedom is, or it does
not exist. There’s a scent to it, as our hands
naturally know how it feels, to every attempt to
grasp upon and hold. Only in moments of death,
perhaps as we let go the life we had just lead,
we can finally experience it, providing better
ecstasy than any illumination. I had always for
something, I could never touch. Poetry cannot
constantly be split into dreams and reality.
For I have no-idea how the soul stays sane,
living in this duality. For me, it’s useless being
alive, if one is not the path of personal revelation,
whether that’s in love of thy soulmate, or just
the transcendence of one’s illumination. But the
saddest thing is, is not whether we can reach it
before death, it’s that those rare people who do,
get frowned upon, be called mad, and turned
away into exile, by the layman's-mundane ignorance.
Finally breathing through the wind, as my body
dives into the bath of Muses below, where I’m
blessed with martyrdom, which is the highest any
human can achieve. It isn’t really true, just because
you witnessed a person die for it. Even though
my life was a discovery of things, worth dying for
like my love for my soulmate.  
(Why be master, when one can be king?)


The only problem with the self,
that is, there is so many various
ways that the perception works.
Eternity maybe longer than life,
arh and lucidity in the sense of
my Muse, acting as a Higher Power,
suspecting in yearning that isn’t
human. Poetry leaves only passages,
it’s like any other art. Lessons in
symbols. Not in a state of constant
dreaming. Individual fate. My
own future, being a parent - present,
melts in my hands now. I’m in
a constant state of illumination.
The only problem with the self,
that is, there is so many various
ways that the perception works.
Eternity maybe longer than life,
arh and lucidity in the sense of
my Muse, acting as a Higher Power,
suspecting in yearning that isn’t
human. Poetry leaves only passages,
it’s like any other art. Lessons in
symbols. Not in a state of constant
dreaming. Individual fate. My
own future, being a parent - present,
melts in my hands now. I’m in
a constant state of illumination.
(knowledge variable)

— The End —