A little peace
within the last hours of the almost bygone day
a little silence
between the days
so that the nascent yesterday does not get in the past
and tomorrow is lived for today

All flowers spring from the bud,
And waves from bellows of the ocean,
Thunder springs from the cloud,
And ataraxy from a zephyr's motion.

Day springs from the ebony night,
And night from fading beams of day,
From fire springs flames of light,
And many a time crockery from clay.

The mountains spring from the earth,
And from pleasant bowers a haven,
Fountains of love unto joy give birth,
And stars from the shores of heaven.

All vapor springs from the water,
And rain from the far melting skies,
From the sun springs a golden glitter,
And pulchritude from my lover's eyes.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 9/5th/2019.

Afterglow grieve bereavement
violaceous flesh limned
kindled espied populace
afflict exultation ayont
disengage, uncage, redeem
bewail materiality it would seem
wager evil haply on dreams
venerated existent ken ataraxy
here transpires this idiolect soul-to Pliny's ism;
lone eminently felicitous forebearer.

"The link with exiguities was abundantly clear,
It exists there in the cloth's she wore,    
It takes currency to purchase what one wears,  
Exiguity is in the language they speak,

Present in the language or words spoken,    
Speech begins to feel as currency to one as they interact,
It is everywhere it stains everything as it hovers about,
It oscillates about It watches from every corner of the page,

Exiguity is not something one can leave behind,
A child born into exiguity will always feel its presence,
At the edges of everything existing matter that shared,
At any moment they can feel the fractures of exiguity,

It is in there gaze back to others as it seeps and oozes in ataraxy,
These abhorrent things of exiguity as the daily impecunious,
Even right now its presence is apperceive surrounding thee,  
As you fear it is in thy words these tiny fractured words of dearth,
Fear not for you shall ascertain knowledge free from EXIGUITY"

By Andrew Guzaldo © 3/08/2021 Posted HP #197

There resides a monster within my heart
One with daggers instead of teeth
Swords, as nails, without a sheath.
This monster has onyx eyes
Paper skin as white as snow
As cold as ice.
This monster is my subdued rage
My muted anger
What makes me age.
It torments my soul in all sorts of ways
From lonely nights to freezing days.
It's cut off my tongue so I won't scream
For God's sake it won't even let me dream!
Every night it visits my slumbering corpse
It taunts me, it haunts me,
It shakes me, it wakes me
I can not scream, I can not breath.
All of my nights are slumberless
These tormenting notions are numberless.

Dear monster, please go
Leave me alone and take my woe
I can not bear your presence
Your sight, your sence, your smell
Haunts me.
It feels like the devil himself taunts me.
I do not know what else to say,
How else to scream
Or cry for help
I just hope that one day
You'll get bored and go away,
Go! give me some ecstasy,
All I need is a slight feeling of ataraxy.

“Lamenting round many voices come colleagues,
I said cometh and no one knew of the ataraxy,
Where or how my aperture throbbed daily,
No conations or bannerols just no aplomb for me,

Only an aperture of thorns that love had opened,
I and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth,
Nor the blood rose that spiraling into the silence,
Dear one can we forget the perennials with such thorns,

It may be that the inlet will wash our prudence labors
The prudence labor of the love slowly apportioned,    
Love for you is the dedicated menial memories afore.
Heated toasts the past frolics of comatose seasons,

Tsunamis and barbarity swarm about our fettered feet
I felt the taste of flaming passion in mouth once again
All can be forgotten of travesties of the former that follow,
As now geysers that have flood deep in a vault of passion
  
May all be subdued to the useful and momentous occasion?
Come dear with me as if this will be our last day on this earth,
To the sounding furrows of a sonnet to our invigorated sonnet”
By Andrew Guzaldo 01/05/2020 © #183