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Steph Dionisio Sep 2015
Sa kulay-kape **** mga mata,
nakita niya ang kanyang halaga.
Ang iyong ngiti ang silbing niyang liwanag,
nagbigay sa diwa niya ng tatag.
Yakap mo'y kanyang tahanan,
siyang nagbibigay ng gaan.
Hindi man mabigkas ng bibig ang salita,
siya'y kuntento na sa iyong gawa.
Ika'y isang wikang walang tinig,
ngunit sa kanya'y isang magandang himig.

*-Steph Dionisio, September 09, 2015
Steph Dionisio Mar 2016
You said that she's beautiful like a garden.
Filled with glowing beauty;
drenched in the warmth of sunshine.
But little did you know,
this beautiful garden has grown wildflowers.
They are in every corner, even on the path.
And the time you noticed these unwanted flowers,
you stepped on every blossom and left the garden.

*-Steph Dionisio, March 9, 2016
Steph Dionisio Dec 2015
I have found myself related to Gomer;
yes, I am also a hustler.
She had relationships with different men,
while I engaged myself with my own selfish plans.
She slept with them for so many nights,
while I slept with selfless thoughts, unaware it wasn't right.
She had correlation thinking it was alright,
while I linked myself with faulty motives and to it I delight.
We were ****** in our different ways.
Unrighteous deeds we both had praised.
It corrupted her mind and body,
while it made me a ******* spiritually.
In the midst of my unfaithfulness and cruelness,
I have found love and forgiveness.
For love came down and bought me with a price,
showed me the beautiful meaning of sacrifice.
The blood of the lamb cleansed and restored my impure soul.
An enough reason that makes me whole.

*-Steph Dionisio, December 02, 2015
Inspired by the book of Hosea in the Bible.
Steph Dionisio May 2015
I recall how you tried to peek.
You were there with us,
and you hardly speak.

It was me who made a move,
for us to become friends.
Then something between us improved.

The bond became so tight,
and that was you whom I looked for.
Those were the days it seemed so right.

Your feelings got deeper;
you assumed for more.
Hoping for things to become sweeter.

I began to be opened and it felt good.
I strived for something new, but...
it became complicated and we misunderstood.

Then a day came,
where everything was so silent.
No whisper of each others name.

The feeling that once became mutual,
is now forgotten.
By words, things could become fatal.

No, I don't regret that kind of relation,
for somehow it taught me numerous things.
And by the next time, it won't be another temporary affection.

*-Steph Dionisio, May 28, 2015
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
The strings
the way I pluck it
gives extra strength
to my soul.
The notes
I try to read
drives my thirst
spirit.
The lyrics
I write in a paper
expresses every single
emotion.
The music
I hear and I make
mends shattered
feeling.

But

The passion
I have
and truly love
seems fading.
The comparison
I get from others
is breaking every
notes.
The people
who are showing that
I am no good
made my paper empty.
Discouragement
scrapes the willing
and hoping
heart.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 26, 2015
Steph Dionisio May 2015
Our eyes have met in an unexpected way.
He had caught my attention,
and I started to behold.
Things became a bit puzzling;
but I kept myself descrying.
As I perceived for so many days,
weeks, months...
something in me unfold.
Things were revealed;
then it showed complicated scenes.
As I closed my eyes,
he showed up in my dream.
My heart beat for him;
it felt good and seemed true.
A tiny part of me loved him in a land of
fantasy.
Then I woke up-
I am back in the reality,
where my feeling for him is like forbidden.
Now I couldn't wait for another night,
to love him in my dreams.

*-Steph Dionisio, May 28, 2015
Steph Dionisio Jul 2014
You are trying to be the lead;
like a famous book
that people will read.
Wanting to get the title of "unbeaten",
no single thing to you is hidden.
You are favored because of thy name.
Overwhelmed by the sound of fame.
Be watchful, you big-headed;
there are things that you devastated.

-Steph Dionisio
1 Peter 5:6 - Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time
Steph Dionisio Aug 2015
Together, they built footprints on the
sand, mud, clay, floor
and even on each other's heart.
They took thousands of steps
to keep love running.
Then one of them stopped.
Perhaps,
tired
wearisome,
running became senseless.
They both knew,
it won't keep going.
As they separated ways,
one, took a hundred steps away.
While the other, for only one step away,
and still hoping for a familiar footprint to follow.


*-Steph Dionisio, August 24, 2015
Steph Dionisio Feb 2015
Beautiful soul is what you are.
In some dark days you are my star.
You are an extension of God's love.
I can't deny the fact that you are blessing from above.

Everything of you is a part of me.
Your beautiful side is what I always see.
You are a person who fights for what is right.
And sometimes this cause you to cry at night.

Since before, you've been always thoughtful.
I saw the times when you became fearful.
Deep down I felt the tears you've shed,  
and courageously to God you prayed and pled.

The time I met you was one of the best-
the best time to say that I am blessed!
We both know that I am not a perfect friend,
but you offered me something that will last 'til the end.

Fun things are what we always do.
Remember the days when we tried to fly and climbed trees, too?
I remembered a day when you cried a lot,
because you were playing and had a deep cut.

Rainy days! One of our favorite days!
We were excited to run and play.
Laughing, running, throwing mud.
We even tried to play in the flood.

Impossible things became possible to us,
There were many things that we liked to discuss.
We became fake animals and superheroes.
We had a pet frog- oh yeah, we were weirdos!

Each day was a time to had fun.
We didn't care about the heat of the sun.
We embraced every bruises we had.
Friends come and go- we were always glad.

Now that we are grown ups and at our 20's,
no more plays and doing important duties.
Memories and friendship will remain the same.
Some things about us, now I acclaim.

Dear best friend, I pray and hope all the best for you.
I and God will always help you to get through.
Let's look on forward to what is best,
and stick together, for we know that God will do the rest.

*-Steph Dionisio, February 10, 2015
This poem is dedicated to my best friend, Genalyn, who is celebrating her 23rd birthday today.
Steph Dionisio Aug 2015
He left her with a tight hug,
but her soul stung.
He left her with unsaid words,
but her heart shattered.
He left her in the most tranquil way,
but it made her broken.
She couldn't find the answer,
but she knows, silence is a killer.

*-Steph Dionisio, August 24, 2015
Steph Dionisio Dec 2014
Being your friend makes me feel blessed.
Distance between us cannot make me love you less.
Our culture and religion doesn't matter.
You are a beautiful friend and a good brother.

Everyday I am praying for you;
whether you are feeling good or blue.
Cause all I want for you is to be happy,
and make this friendship deep like a sea.

Someday- somehow, we will see each other.
I hope by that time our friendship is stronger.
You are someone who are loved by many.
Most especially loved by the Almighty.

Thank you for being my "net buddy",
and at the same time for being my dear besty.
I'm hoping for more talks with you,
cause every time we do it feels like there is something new.

You deserved this poem I am offering,
because of the happiness you're bringing.
You will always have me as friend,
and that's the one thing that will surely won't end.

*-Steph Dionisio, December 10, 2014
This poem is dedicated to my friend, Abhinav Gaur, who celebrated his birthday this 9th of December.
Tessitura, psalms, and songs of praise, they branded atheism when singing Christian psalms in the streets making ineffable groans, where the exordios looked from the back with Delphic prose, where the dart that opens the curtains of the hallelujah tormented, with darts that rubbed weathered in the tentative to rise of the stores of Sanequerib. They are relatives of Incipit Psalm 69. " Saint John said as they continued to climb the Calvary of Profitis Ilias, but this time in the company of the Help of Isaiah, with a great spirit of being from the cavern of Elías in Haifa, at a flat point at the time of the Benedictus. Already the Assyrians were returning the same way they came, as Isaiah prophesied, in the morning with ejaculations that ended with the crass rottenness that could end the day without a step other than an anti-Jesuit one. Prayers go and implore the Omnia Vanitatis, the moment when the sun honors, taking you towards the close of the day with the perpetual antiphon. The vigil was reaching the lines of Isaiah does not rest, in Trinitarian doxology. Where is the darkness, where is the glory to see you...? If the stars collide with each other in Baptismal frowning, and in the mystery of Vernarth that lies a complex, tied to becoming that never begins, and what was Christic history of a morning introit.

Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth express in the Trinitarian doxology: “Through Christ, with him and in him, to you Almighty God the Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and all glory, forever and ever. Amen"

The triangular taxias of the Hetairoi made faunas that came cutting themselves with the wind of the "incipit" of Psalm 69: "My God, come to my aid;" Lord, hurry to help me ", by the Keras or wings of the site of Arbella; or Gaugamela rather said…, sonnetized by some Pazhetairoi, made up of 32 Syntagmas, as units of sixteen revived Falangists from Court V of the Helleniká Necropolis, bilocated on Patmos, a few feet from the Mandragoron project. Thus the triangular spellings of war were formed again, to the astonishment of all those present. Alexander the Great, already graceful, was over-trained in irrigation and supplications, he was consisting of 128 Syntagmas, with 62 Falangists covered by the Cinnabar that subdivided them into bones by sixteen of the Lochoi or guides. The Syntagma bipartite was enlarged by two Syntagamatarchos captaining two units, all with their semi-open belly, re-liquidating their viscera by the Ghosts of Shiraz, the Saltimbanqui Hydro comes from Roknabad (also known as Aub-e Rokní), from an underground channel which carried spring water to the city from a mountain located ten kilometers northeast of Shiraz. Here he has to mend the propellers and water ropes to do his acrobatics on the water, with greater songs in the poems of the Poet Hafiz. When he bites his tongue, they repair it with the verses of Hafiz's Koran, there are three hundred creeds, three hundred hectares to irrigate with his wheel the sadness of those who cannot have the gift of the rivalry of Montenegro and Monte Blanco, to overestimate the liveliness of the caravan that trembles with uncertain doubts here on Patmos "

Saltimbanqui of Bascule says: “We are Epi ghosts, green in reverie with tutelary ropes, to jump through the trapeze of the photometric units of the heavy Almeria of the highest Mirror of the Sea. Will take you back to Limassol. Curiously to the same ship as the Eurydice that sleeps in the swings of the sea, and in the arms of the petulance of Dionysus in a new awakening of lethargy of theorization of the superstrings of Anaximander, here is the intrinsic speculation of science, already that this is not just purely empirical research. "

In between them, they form even and odd rows. The horizontals were tinged with the Red Blood cells that became volatile and surrounded the Xyston lances, for thirty soldiers of the Diloquia, with their dismembered arms that began to take them back with their hands tightly girded by the song of the Theological Shemesh of San Juan, which subsequently rescinded last in the sum of two taxiarchies, constituting a Syntagma. The units rose with the sickle that cuts definitive death, to reconstitute it in five thousand that should tread through the hierarchies of formations, amid the frolics of the Phalanx, where Vernarth protested to all “Khaire, Kalos irthate apo tin kentriki, Welcome from Hell !"

Thus the Phalanx was constituted among the Syntagmas in metaphors of the Falangists. In this way this antiphon was revealed martial, denoting synergies of the Sybilla Herofila that conferred to the world of Trinitarian Doxology, among ashes that remained by a solid cobblestone witness of the reluctant troops that testified to the sense of interpreting the law of bringing to the world what to their lives it owes them. The prophecy shone from an intangible Isaiah before all in this concomitant episode, and to the degree of the reign of Judah, here together with the prophet Elijah, they faced the hardened fragrances of blessing as oracular teachers of so many goods, and of the benefactor that protects by inspirational mandate, making laws for the end times before closing his own eyes without having prophesied them.

The rows in “V" contrasted with the corridor friezes in the crowned troops of the Hetairoi, and in the syntagmas that became appressed from the triangle that opened the three-quarter proportions of Athenea's physiognomy in Pergamum, subjugating Alcineo, so that finally it was forged in constellations of equanimity in the fifth courtyard or "V" of the Necropolis of Helleniká in the allegory of Vernarth, stopping the plausible dogma of the initial that glosses the Law in Vernarth's "V". This in turn in double syntagm of the Syntagamatarchos guide, in the high sky of Patmos, and in the medrones growing on the antlers of the proclamation of Wonthelimar, which made them a twin "W" in the star that shines in the medrones of the Ibix, in the Cornacabra and in the Cornucopia, with certain docile movement, adhering to acrostic and prehensile preliminaries of the Isaiah saying.

The Phalanx Alexandrina Heterochromatic of Alexander the Great volatilized between the villi of his Falangists, climbs the Holm of Zeus and causes a "Gore" or horrifying reflection, allowing the rhizomes to become a hundredfold, which will make the nominal order of five thousand, for each member of the Syntagma, in an astonishing quantum that reproduced itself to materialize before Him. Then he tied each one of them as Prometheus chained to each of the oaks, from an Akane grocer, incontinenti withdraws a sharp dagger and opens each one's veins to free them from the isolation of so many years settled in their last heterochromia of the War Iridium that he conferred on them, to endure the visit of the spirited Grim Reaper. This causes liberation, in this way they re-install themselves in their bodies, with Iridium or iris that made them see before their optics in two biases of Hoplite alter egos, impacting half of their body. Alexander the Great, being the philanthropic heir and of Platonic legacy, made them superfluous in the melanin that fell from the Epíchisis or libation vessel, to taste the effluvia of Dionysus with the maenads, with wide ambivalence filling them with viticulture, so that they would flow through the veins of his soldiers, and to revive them with the Dionysian must of melanin to the left eye of the Hegemon King Alexander the Great, with Jasper in the left, and the right with ultramarine from the bottom of the Ionian, on the banks of the washed banks of Patmos, in high swells of Greek alcohol that was distilled from the Mosacism of the stones when unraveling the peripheral forces from the prefectures of the great native of Pelas. They ordered areas of all Greece under their heterochromia flow that gave life to the Perifereoaki, or periphery for Central and Western Macedonia that came with great vigor, with Epirius central, western Greece, Peloponnese, and Crete. East Macedonia and Thrace, Ionian Islands, North Aegean, and Thessaly, later they would go for the Aldehyde alcohol that summarized and epitomized Dionysus taking him with four eagles that distilled the unprisoned Syntagmas of the lines of 16, 32, 64, etc...., for purposes never to start on an omega all the way to the Ionian Islands from Corfu.

Alexander the Great, went near the pre-urbanization of the Mandragoron towards Vernarth, somewhat dizzy, and before attending to him he presented himself first to the Zefian; who looked at his iris like a foreman who re-divided his visuals, by prevailing in eagerness to restore his soldiers, to help in the construction of adventures of life, and to assist in building the Megaron, which still rested in the myopia of mythological vision of the Gods tied in animosity with the Titans. Overwhelmingly, he highlighted the clouding or turbidity that was seen beyond the radius or visual field of two realities, found in visual refraction and interference with refractive statisms of the periphery that led him to the other world in Babylon when death imprisoned him...? Here the root revived, it became parallel in a unique world with divergent lights, which entered his Akera or right-wing of his soldiers, bringing visual acuity that brought the perchlorate volatilizations that hovered in the boots of his soldiers, when they marched in awareness of the retina and of the mean light, that for the first time was clarified in true holistic and political from a Parthenon with the musk of mortals and immortals of neo Hegemonic ophthalmology, which he was already re-leading by his command, where he was going to invest his greatest and most spiritual elemental Commander Vernarth, with his Himation.

The rays of his eyes seemed distant, but they were diffuse and alternate, they wandered through the lens of his clouding, which blinds a partial of the left Akera, or flank of the Hypaspists that dazzled Parmenion. Here the optics of Alexander the Great, remained in the diatribe of the small eye next to another that was enlarged, being hyperopic of a mysterious confine in the severity of Dionisio when confronted with him, in light effects of the high liquid vineyard, refracting meridians in his troops next to the Hexagonal Primogeniture who observed them behind the magenta image, which was the one that flashed from the Clouded holm oak and eclipsed by calm heat movements, and rising air masses that were in the opportune station of good sense. When being aided by the Maenads and the Herophile, they were teaching from a parent, who now sponsored the entire political and spiritual will of the Hoplite side, made up of the King of the World Vernarth, together with Alexander the Great, after receiving the photocoagulated lightning bolts. of the officers, under redeeming and reduced of the metabolic, and of the oxygenated preeminences of new lungs for each devout consecrated body, towards Saint John, the Apostle, pigmented and mechanized with aggravating heterochromia, and extensive in the bodies raised in new parallels that have to confront an anonymous or semi-god by turning for his own.
Antiphon Benedictus III Isaiah / Syntagma
Steph Dionisio Jul 2014
You to me are totally nothing,
but you gave me a look with something.
I wondered what you were thinking;
was it the same as I was feeling?
I knew that you were reading my action,
and I was trying not to give an emotion.
I wanted to know your impression,
but it was just a thing that doesn't need an explanation.
Perhaps, someday- somehow,
our eyes will meet again.
Something unexpected might suddenly happen.
For now let us keep it hidden;
wait until something in us awaken.*

-Steph Dionisio, July 25, 2014
Steph Dionisio Oct 2015
How could I keep myself away from admiring you so deeply, when the breathe of my heart is dying to know you deeply?
How could I run away from this disturbed emotion, when you to me is a beautiful distraction?
How could I make myself believe that I am only daydreaming, when every words you say my heart is pounding?
How could I end this reverie?
From your beautiful soul, I cannot flee.

*-Steph Dionisio, October 08, 2015
Steph Dionisio Sep 2014
You speak to me in Your own way.
You know if I'm okay or feeling gray.
You know exactly what words to tell me.
You are the One, that I want to be.

You speak to me through different people.
You are telling me that I have always someone to call.
It may be friends, family or neighbors;
someone I can share life's beautiful colors.

You speak to me when I'm alone.
You can even see when my heart groans.
I don't know how You give me rest,
but one thing is for sure, Your way is the best.

You speak to me through difficult times.
You're pushing me up when it's hard to climb.
I know You're telling me to cling onto Your Words,
even when things look so absurd.

You speak to me even if I don't talk to You.
It is still my heart that You want to pursue.
All You want for me is to be happy-
to be loved by You and win the victory.

You speak to me in so many ways,
and for some reasons I don't hear what You say.
But You never get tired of speaking daily.
I know it's Your way of saying You love me.

*-Steph Dionisio, September 24, 2014
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
A solitary place
in the middle of nowhere.
Great distance from perfection.
The horrible look is incomparable.
Covered with dirt;
no marks of hope.
The shadow of dark
surrounds every part of it.
Abandoned
Hopeless
now unknown
deserved to be gone.
Then a man came,
from a paradise.
The place awaiting to be destroyed
given a dot of hope.
Pleased
Optimistic
and for some reason
the man stayed.
Alone for years,
the man removed every single dirt.
From irrecovable
it turned into something
abrupt.
It can be "something"
from nowhere.
Unforseen
A day approached
the man said goodbye.
Away
the place still looked beautiful.
But
it has no value.
Empty
Unworthy
The changes are insignificant.
Certainly it needed more than
how it looked.
Even so, its new beauty
without the man
remained
a solitary place.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 13, 2015
Steph Dionisio Dec 2015
To you,
who's feeling empty,
whose life is lost in the sea,
who's broken into pieces,
whose body is full of bruises,
who's full of hatred,
whose love has just faded,
who's behind the bars,
whose night has no stars,
who's suffering from sickness,
whose spirit is as its weakness,
who's in so much pain,
whose thoughts can't be explained,
who's having a troubled heart,
whose living is like an unattractive art,
who's thinking what this life means,
whose soul is unclean,
who's filled up with this world's love,
whose eyes aren't focus above,
who's just waiting to die,
whose eyes are full of sighs,

You must have cried hard,
for your life's scarred.
No reason for you to be merry,
and all you want is to be set free.
May this season be a reminder to you,
that love came down for you and yes it's true.
Jesus the Son of God was born for you,
to save you from sins– a priceless rescue!
He will be the hope of your heart,
the One who will give you a beautiful start.
Today, choose to look at God Almighty,
and He will be an enough reason for your heart to be merry.

*-Steph Dionisio, December 24, 2015
Dedicated to people who are facing different kinds of trials in life and those who don't have a reason to be merry this Christmas season.
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
This giant eye
let's you see every thing.
Steals your heart
while you are smiling.
Showing sky 'til you stun,
pauses every second.
Takes your breathe away
by showing lights on display.
Yet, after giving a good spell,
it will just lead to farewell.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 22, 2015
Steph Dionisio Oct 2014
I still remember that sad day, it was May 24, 2013;
the last time I saw you with the body that so thin.
You looked so weak and your eyes were scared.
You held my hand softly- I wasn't prepared.

I hated the way you suffered a lot.
But I've witnessed how you bravely fought.
It has been more than a year,
but what happened are still clear.

Oh hundreds of days are passing by,
You know I love you that my heart can't say goodbye.
Though now I know you're in the best place,
I still miss the moment when we don't have space.

Last night I saw you- in my dream.
You were wearing green and your smile gleamed.
I ran so fast and hugged you tightly.
I knew to myself that I miss you so badly.

I guess it God's way of saying, you are in peace,
and dreaming of you is saying, my love for you won't cease.
Seeing you in my dream is good enough,
believing that you're with the Lord is more than enough.


*-Steph Dionisio, October 15, 2014
This poem is dedicated to my Uncle Seong who died last year of May 2013 because of lung cancer. I love you so much, Uncle.
Steph Dionisio Jun 2015
My life was occupied with many things.
My mind was overwhelmed with thoughts.
I drowned myself with trifling feelings,
and made myself forgot of how beautiful
things could be.
One night, as I was doing my thing,
I got ******, took a deep breathe and stopped.
For a moment, I looked up.
I saw myself under the moon,
where its light shines brightly.
My life paused for awhile.
I stared at the moon and then closed my eyes.
I felt peace within.
Then for a short time I've realized,
that when you see yourself engaged
with tons to do,
try look up and take a breath.
For the meantime, forget the things,
and let yourself appreciate the calmness in you.

*-Steph Dionisio, June 02, 2015
Steph Dionisio Aug 2014
It just came into my mind, to write you something.
Though you don't deserve, and to you I am nothing.
Oh hundreds of days passed us by,
and I still remember that look into your eye.

You know, I was caught by your charm.
Oh how I wanted to be in your arms.
But it feels like a forbidden thing,
so I did what is right, to you I didn't cling.

Here I am, with my pen and reminiscing.
I can till feel the thrill- I am still smiling.
One day I hope to see you around,
I want to be enraptured by your sound.

However, there might be someone who owns your heart.
And perhaps, for you it is a beautiful start.
I will be delighted and won't demand for more things to happen.
To see you...just to see you again- I will be truly gladdened.


*-Steph Dionisio, Aug 26, 2014
This poem is dedicated to a person I met year 2013. I made him a code name and called him "Yes Man".
Steph Dionisio Jan 2017
Her lips try not to utter a single word about you,
and her heart is restraining from letting you feel it.
So she hides your name in every poem she makes;
where there is freedom to say that–
your smile gives her warm,
the look in your eyes is her weakness,
your touch leaves verses,
and your presence is an embrace.
You are the beautiful idea of her poetry–
the reason behind her glee.

*-Steph Dionisio, January 11, 2017
Steph Dionisio Oct 2015
A wild flower grew from nowhere
and so her feelings for you
As dark as night without the moon
that's how you see her desire for you
Even if she walks ten thousand steps
she will never reach you
A grain of sand—  that's all her chance

But would you believe she still prays and hoping?

She's make-believing

*-Steph Dionisio, October 02, 2015
Levanten sus copas
que hoy la suerte
se cierne a la botella

Dionisio pagó con sangre
el trago amargo de la pérdida.
Laureada la seda que envuelve
el óbito de tu destino,

sobre el tinto que ateza de luto tu pecho
atribulan sus enemigos
en la cómplice oscuridad de un bar olvidado
que arrulla en secreto la muerte bajo un mar de Ginebra

Que aguarda entre mentiras al
íntimo ritual que sienta el pulso
y añeja el vértigo de tus palabras

Petaca en mano que enciende tu aliento
desgaja tus venas de oporto y ron
y pinta de sanguinos matices
la náusea ...

que apacigua el lamento
de tu Ménade solitaria
que entre espectros alcoholizados
maldice el acre juicio del azar

Danza macabra que
funde sus lenguas profanas,
en la misma apática letanía

Maldita esa noche de julio
parda como el veneno que rezuman tus vísceras
parda como la trama endeble
que corrompe tu hígado enfermo

Maldita la sed en tus ojos vidriosos
negros como el nectar que escancian la Nísiades
en la viña de tu cárdena mortaja.

Maldito el recuerdo
que aún te ve

Sentado con beoda inocencia
donde van a morir las ratas
y un perro viejo sella
con vos su pródigo pacto secuaz

Que entre pitada y pitada
escapan a vos en susurros los versos del turco Jayyam
batiendo suspiros al aire
flotando en castillos de alquitrán

Que pensando en la muerte
borracho y con voz cansada
solías preguntar

¿Habrá allí una pizca de lima que bese
el salitre de sus dedos renegridos?
Steph Dionisio Aug 2016
She was undeniably warm.
The spirit in her is as balmy as summer.
A soul brimful of hopes and desires.
Until a sudden day came,
when everything feels bleak and inexplicable.
Fear created a room in her.
The tangled mind she has is devouring her spirit
and she started losing spark.
Things are slowly becoming halfhearted in her eyes;
even prayer becomes a tough battle.
Her mornings are frigid.
Her smile turned into misery.
The cold vibe she's facing,
made a winter in her heart.


-Steph Dionisio, August 19, 2016
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
I stood  alone on a path.
Looking around
the place was dark.
Confused
Quite scared
I kept on walking.
My feet was leading me
at the end of the path.
There was a room
huge and satisfying.
Entering
there were bags of golds.
People
Buildings
Animals
all were beautiful.
No signs of worries.
Seemed every thing was good.
The feeling was pleasant.
As I walked around
I heard noises.
Cries of babies
Moaning
Yells
Growls
and even the beats of a heart.
The other room-
there was another room.
I searched.
Following the noise
it lead me into a room
filled with sufferings
and questions.
People were thirst
of many things.
Observing in the room
I felt sadness.
A tear rolled down
on my cheek
then I woke up.
It was a dream.
Outside, I took a walk.
Observing
Thinking
people around me.
I knew to myself
that it was not just
a dream.
It was reality,
where people
walk on path
and find themselves
either in a room full
of beauties
or
in the other room.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 10, 2015
Steph Dionisio Nov 2017
You are her perfect definition of almost.
The lost piece of puzzle,
the half-done painting;
the imperfect photo.
You are her unfinished sonata,
the music she can never sing
and the song that can never be played.
You are her unread pages and torn sheets.
You are her unfinished poem-
her untold thoughts;
the scribbled words in her paper.
You are the unrevealed story-
the almost lover.


*-Steph Dionisio,  November 14, 2017
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
Fonding the warm touch of the light,
faces around had a smile so bright.
It was a day to have a good write,
for the whole lot seemed right.

But the fine day turned into a dreadful state;
where everyone has gone and there was no mate.
Unpleasant things happened 'til it's late.
It was clear, fright became so great.

Every thing around was howling.
Terrified, you know your faith was shaking.
Thirst for the time of surviving,
you wailed and started praying.

Millions of seconds passed.
You're still alone, feeling outcast.
Not a thing to do, but remembering the past.
Helpless, wondering, "Is this going to last?"

You shouted help, but no one came.
You were puzzling if these were all just a game.
Hopeless, you tried to curse and blame.
A heart shattered and a soul lost its flame.

All is lost in the middle of the sea.
You tried to drown yourself to be free.
The minute you fled, there's hand you see,
Reaching you out, giving a new story.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 15, 2015
Steph Dionisio Aug 2016
and will leave you with tears and just go?
Why is it so easy for some to fling,
and later ignore your feeling?
Why is it so easy for some to tell a lie,
and then leave you with a question 'why'?
Why is it easy for some to call you special,
when you are treated just like normal?
Why is it easy for some to say they love you,
but they don't show that they do?
Why is it easy for some to surrender,
when they've promised to love you forever?


*-Steph Dionisio, June 06, 2016
Steph Dionisio Oct 2015
She has innumerable scenarios in her mind but you are her favorite
She's drifting by your smile and simple hello's and then her words are lost
She wonders about your thought and the difference between fantasy and reality
She always see tons of ways to find fondness in you
She doesn't want to gamble her feelings for something unsure yet caught herself lost in the idea of you
Though for a moment she's stuck in the delusion of being with you
She tries to stray from the illusion of loving you.

-Steph Dionisio, October 06, 2015
Steph Dionisio Nov 2014
I don't know exactly who you are,
or what is the reason behind your scar.
You're not a person whom others think is a saint,
but I can see that something in you is quaint.

The way your eyes look are strange,
it can make some people's mood change.
You see yourself as a distressing person,
but you don't mind and still carryon.

You hide your wounds by pretending you're fool.
Sometimes you think your "**** side" is cool.
I can see that you are hardening your heart,
from Someone who can give you a beautiful art.

Behind every negative things about you,
and the things you are going through,
is a person who's needing an attention,
someone you can share your deepest emotion.

I hope people see, what I see in you,
by the way you look you've given me a clue.
There is always something good in someone,
even when his good deeds are unseen and undone.

My heart is hoping for the best thing to happen,
that someday you will surrender your burdens,
because even when people think you're *******,
I still believe something's beautiful in you.

*-Steph Dionisio, November 11, 2014
Steph Dionisio Nov 2015
She craves for your smile and the look in your eyes,
while you think of someone and your head full of whys.
She hears the throb of your heart despite of great distance,
while you choose to keep silent and hide your presence.
She's quietly telling you that she listens and cares,
while you seek for someone's sweet stares.
She patiently waits for the time you will talk,
while you choose to give no words and just walk.
And she knows you will never notice the whisper of her heart,
not only because you are North and she is South—
it is because in you heart, she'll never have a part.

*Steph Dionisio, November 13, 2015
Steph Dionisio Jun 2015
The first time we've met I knew we'd click.
There was no doubt that you and I wouldn't be closed.
Fate was at my side and helped made a way.
I was happy and enjoyed your company.
I loved how we exchanged laughs and stories.
The late night talks brought me smile and truly unforgettable.
Being with you was good and the feeling was comfortable.
I still recall when we traded hugs.
Do you remember the feeling when we thought each other was enough?
Challenges from your side to mine tried to shake the faith we have.
But I was and still glad that you were with me those times.
No, there was no "us" but somehow, at some point,
I know the feelings once became mutual.
Then, a day came when every thing seemed different.
I asked myself, "What happened?"
Tons of things bugged my mind and heart.
I wouldn't want to lose what fate created in us.
But-
when I tried to speak for myself,
words mumbled and we both misunderstood.
My heart was guilty and didn't mean to hurt.
I wish you know how I badly wanted to make everything all right.
And at the same time, I felt the pinch in my heart
when I heard no words from you.
You shun and made me feel that the feeling I had for you was wrong.
I didn't want to make myself believe that I hope you'd show me that it is you..
you that I prayed for, but I did.
Then again, the situation proved me wrong,
and made me realized that it wasn't love we had.
Why it seemed like fate was kidding with us?
Perhaps, the feeling that was growing before suddenly stopped,
has now a beautiful plan for tomorrow.
The memories we had are indelible.
Now as you face your life ahead,
I'm holding my pen, writing you this  to let you know that my heart isn't holding a grudge.
I know your heart is open again to love someone and
my soul believes that things will surely be better each day.
Today, I'd like to tell you that my heart is happy for you.
Those days we had together gave us something good and lesson to remember.
I hope the new journey that we're going to make in separate ways,
will bring us the joy that we tried looking together.

*-Steph Dionisio, June 28, 2015
To someone who was once closed to my heart.
Steph Dionisio Aug 2016
It's a great wonder how our eyes have met.
******* with my thing and various people were around,
I was still caught by your presence.
You are the story I've never knew I'd read.
From the day my eyes have met yours,
I was totally distracted—
distracted by your eyes filled with emotions.
The silence between us have brought words;
Feelings became mutual.
Strange feelings painted hearts;
It brought deep hope and started creating fire.
Fate's on our side,
and time drew us closer.
We were strangers who found a home in each other's heart.

*-Steph Dionisio, August 23, 2016
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
Words were spoken softly.
Tickled my ears; such a sweet harmony.
Gazed at me in a constant way.
It brought enchantment each day.
With you, life was like in Eden;
full of love in beauteous garden.
In the briefest time we shared felicity,
it felt like a moment of eternity.
But life, like sky, turned gray.
Closed my eyes and you went away.
Saw myself out of the paradise.
Almost made my heart cold as ice.
Sadly, it wasn't even,
but thanks for the piece of heaven.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 20, 2015
Steph Dionisio Feb 2018
In his world where the sun barely rises,
there she is— set to give warmth.
The war inside his head is extreme,
but there she is whispering good dreams.
Many times he will shout "help!"
and there she responds and loves him more than herself.
She chooses to learn how to dance in the rain,
and tells him she's there even in times of pain;
because she cares more of his scars
than facing her own wars—
because she loves him and she hopes he knew.


*-Steph Dionisio,  February 14, 2018
Happy Valentine's Day!  ❤
Vessels  and Wine menus of the archaic formulas seemed from the new Universe that was approaching them vertiginously, concelebrating the unitary form of the union of the pilasters of the Opistódomos with Hellas , which was constituted as an inter-dimensional state, for two strategists universal and immortal that provided the beginning of a new Christic language, based on the relationship of the unified polis but with an infinite calendar perspective. The courage to start an end with a beginning full of excitement and celebration where clearly the dances would be from beginning to end to treasure the influences of endless complacency, and that would hold commemorative celebrations of station processes, being established fiercely in the treasuries of Metroon ; as a duplicated and bilocated agoras on Patmos, besieging all the documents of the glorious past of Mythology towards the new preservation of Submitology, where the people of heroes and anti-heroes of all the Pleiades come to life from the Vernarth transcript, as a multidimensional memorial archive housing in all the concerns of eternity written, and preserved tangible and intangible that would transport them to the annals of a sanctuary that would agree with the repositories of everything that was and will be of this Myth annex beyond a fantastic reality, going back to the Hellenisms that they will compose next to the Beit Hamikdash Temple, as a sacred mansion where the ceiling and the floor would rest in total communion. The dimensions will be given in the own open foot that will standardize the buttresses that would make up the access chambers to the privileged place of Rea, with dimensions that could be displayed in the confines of the inflection of Orion, naturally illuminating the vault of Greece in the head of the Agora and from there to Theoskéspasti, to then be triangulated with the Doric and Ionic colonnades specifying the Vernarth chamber, which will have its quantum progression and multidimensional link throughout the Archaic Hellas to all of Judea that will re-sanctify the possibilities that the heroes will parade eternally for the waters and lands that are proper to inertia, where Athena and Nike will make the pots with mead in the rejection of more miracles that will flow from Galilee to Patmos. The etymology would be of Hellenic customary avant-garde, evidencing realities where every day the peasants sharpened their sickles, as a feast that celebrated the first-rate courts with the first-grade olive oil with the Almazara or oil press that will bring the fruits of the table. The flapping of the pelicans would tie laudable sounds from the Thuellai worshiping the phonograms that were emitted from the Metroon, attracting the classical periods of the conformation of Greece when it was only Chaos and Seas in conflict. From this mythological proposition, everything was a reality where the lack of custom proved as a cultural character, it was the vertical cultural basting coined in the gloss of the signifier, rather than the meaning, leading everything to these festivities of edibles and drinkable towards the Panhellenic that it would bring new vigor of expansive territorial function, towards Macedonia and Delphi as a holiday that could celestially have more than twelve lunar months.

Meanwhile Vernarth was hugging a rattle more than two meters high and one in diameter, this resonance implied the inaugural sound of the Symposium of the Athletic Agon that together with the Almazara would run rials of oilseeds, to anoint the attendees as all Sacred of the jubilee of the Opistódomos and the Hamikdash, towards the new Submitological Era Duoversal between the events that will delight everything that concerns accompanying the pairings of liquids and solids in this competitive challenge, so that the mythical hero becomes the credible hero stationed in the ninth laurels that would make up the foundation and inauguration of the games, after the victory of those who never threw the victor's crown. The votive offerings and monuments joined the agonal journey that referred from the perspective of a soul that wanted to compete with its existential soul, and then reluctantly redirected itself through the unusual temples that seemed to vanish amid the crowds, making this festive ritual the greatest expression. of all the votive festivals in Patmia. In practice, the meals would once again be rewards for the support of the sky by the Matakis, as a snowy reflection in the pouch that does not display any icon other than a numismatist that sniffs the pieces of bronze that were surrounded by the other derivatives of the terminal of saturation of Zeus, seeming to identify that Matzoh would fall from the sky, and Manah that will highlight the laurel artifice when the conceptual of the sages give the beginning of the activities with a meta-praxis that will stand out from the full stomachs, and the bladders supplemented with oenological colors, eradicating physical competitions for those of the allegory of Dionysian pleasure that suggests a human and mythological hybridism, Submitological-supernatural. Everyone became restless and ran along the golden trails of the iridescent nimbus creating capacities to unfold the time of Kairos and at the same time re-inaugurating the feat of noble bread and the skills of collecting the green fords, where Persephone refrained from an illegitimate pressure by leaving the intellectual bulwarks for the destiny of the force that subtracts the will, but if it defines the feminine character that caresses the tongues of the soulless and they call us with the features of competing prostrate to a Goddess who worships the eternal shine of the wheat field that refers, and what makes the ibidem in the conferences of a hero who smacks the features of all the sculptures that will follow the cause of reason of the allegorical agoras and the competition where the meek will only toast when nobody sees them face inhibition itself of what is and is not.

What the languages uttered became shouted to sit near the inns and tables with dairy products and wines from which they all stood up with a cantiga in unison, ***** in the joy of being called to the Hellenic invitation to compete, to make dynamics and refer to physical skills assiduously to the constellations that made them awaken the intellectuals. The attributes of each one were a trigger to celebrate and laugh before the divinity of the new Age, along with the solemnity of Himation. This lasted twenty-eight days exchanging the full moons that would bring the shooting stars with boiled genetics that were forged from the Souvlaki prototype, and flashes that would take them to the symposium where the feasts were dimensions that surpassed the entire width of the galaxies, to praise and cheer the crowded Pleiad of assistants fully compete in the intelligentsia, before the various rituals and spells that were prepared with the consecration of the Symposium that would bring together Alpha and Omega, as a Semitic language that filtered through the iridescence nets that manifested from the Nimbus where they remained the vaporous entity of the Mashiach.

Vernarth imbibed, above all, a segment of space that allowed him to look without being distracted towards the height of the Nimbus, creating in the tract of languages that they wandered between Aramaic, Greek, and Hebrew, after that the extra-biblical witness Marzeah would designate in the liturgy of celebration of the Symposium, always noting that the allusive rhetorical conversations at the side of the Symposium meeting, understanding that they would become a brotherhood of tasters of the ethyl elixir, which would flow from the iridescent tract between seven iridescence that would translate into bittersweet solid foods and rolls with thyme from Kalymnos. The ingestion in two portions was lived from arm to arm in the jars of hand, reciprocal in the distractions that Vernarth made looking at the Nimbus, and offered him with his Khaire, promoting distraction and jumping over the dark clouds that were tinged with purple tones of the ethyl elixir, creating dance forms that revived the altruism of euphonic auditions that divined that the world could be all Wine and Matzoh, which was lavished on those who would not be excluded from the drinking of the sky that flowed as food from the fermented Hydor, alongside some concave stones with toasted chickpeas, fresh fruit, and Lepanto beans. Saint John blessed food considering that Eurydice, Circe, Medea, Hecate, and Walekiria would be incorporated into the festive Andron, although the feminine essence should be reserved for other stages of the solemn festival. The expositions of contentment were to have the vessels permanently facing the sky of the Nimbus, because from there holistic ethyl liquids would constantly fall that would shine with their deferred colors, sensitizing what the ear wanted to hear more than their collisions of Epichisis and Enócoes to pour and serve. in geometric ciboriums from Laconia. Vernarth would walk around the Profitis with Askos full of the essence of the Mashiach wine, which served them with the seven cosmic thoughts, thus frequenting the distractions for those who did not skimp on Apollo's delirium of dipsomania, distracted in Vernarth with the dancers of music by Hetera. Vernarth filled the glasses of all those who carried Guttus and Lecitos who relaxed and brought their Cretan flavors in the chirps of their pharynxes coming out from their mouths with verses that seemed the same as those of the Heterias, which the soldiers of the phalanx influenced the Small groups in a circle to applaud the gift and virtue of celebrating with improvised cheers, which in the bedrooms invited even the dissuasive shadows of their own evil that wanted to seep into the symposium. The afternoon was reinvented from the agora and the proscenium that attended for all from all the borders that would bring the storms of the ethyl nimbus, inviting new tides from the Aegean that would add to re-condense in the parasites that swarmed deserts with the rhythm of one night in all the borders and optics of the world, being able to be seen clearly and precisely to be reissued. The comedy of Dyonisius was present with all his court of Syracuse, and Dionisio was reiterated with Thespis and his supports that spelled ruffian verses between bitten, one being King the other being a God, sticking to his origin as a demigod in the feminine inheritance of a mortal, to come to serve in Cantharos to Dyonisius, where they roar in his mortal consciousness. The parasites bustled through the floodgates of intoxication that could be textualized and verbalized in the shrinking of colic, or perhaps boldly sitting on a tripod to imitate the Sybillas if they were to be supported by the effluvium of Alcyoneus, covering with snakes that they would carry potions in the wine glasses when representing the banquets that would falsify to be scenes of a feast, with the criterion of an over-relief.
Opistódomos Symposium
In the posterity of what he compromised of his double mortality; one of these would bifurcate from the fearsome tyranny that subsequently dragged him down as he yearned to free himself from her purging. However, it was understood that he would have to retreat from his ditopikótitas or bilocality that was lifting him from the rigging of the Shamaim, which serenely reserved a Myein or arcane cloister for him until he detached himself from the Olympo that made him experience how to achieve his maximum unification with the Christianismós that would transport him with his subsidiary death from confinement, being a fleeting ascetic exercise with Orpheus and Dionisio and being able to access the unitive way of contravening the Myein or confinement of himself, until when he transfigured with his Himation into locks of gold they follow him transporting towards an illuminating purgative construction. Vernarth had already indulged in paroxysmal serials that repeatedly vanished from the stigma indulged in the non-rational parapsychological that bilocated extra-sensory, between the same helots present and ambassadors of Orpheus and Dionysus.

After drinking the fermented Ionian among those present, a Thuellai glimpsed him with such impetus that the glasses that broke in the same act, thus the lutrophores became weightless among this eternal battle between the eared handles of the carquesio, daring him to combine it with the rains of the tertiary zero that was settling on the Carquesians, and colliding with each other with those of their acolytes. Vernarth felt an abrupt alienation of the Myein towards a hyper-reality, but at the same time very aware that when the glasses crashed, they were made in thousandths of spaces in the realms that were detached from the hyper verbalized quantum with lexicons that emanated in the Duoverse way. ; That is to say, plenty of inspirations among the meditative and suspicious toasts when pretending to inherit from the Olympo, respecting and leaving the depositaries calm, noting that if one of them when grabbing the Lutrophorus had hirsute and hairy scarlet bristles activated in the back area of his hand right not hairy. Therefore, Vernarth realized that they were canons of the Kerberos in fact, and not of Orpheus and Dionysus, giving an immediate ovation of obedience and sudden minimal in the neglect of the place. This mechanism had broken down from a monotheistic hypersensitivity when he learned that there was a huge abyss of asceticism that distanced him from the underside of a possible cabal that supremely raised him with roots of hyper-meditative and illusory alienation that transferred him to the new reel of Hecate, which he reverberated with spells as he saw that his Kerberos distended from some hoopoe that lightened on Hecate's shoulders as they usurped Hestia's Olympian oikonos. Behold, Hestia's acquiescence was always close in Vernarth's metaphysical incursion, in such a way that the aviforme Hoopoe duplicated itself on Vernarth's shoulder blades, after emigrating from all the regions that were unknown to him, only from this ******* that is only possible optically sensitive in each hoopoe, and in each Vernarth shoulder after the transmigration of the great litters of blatant nocturnal Athena, not being condemned souls of Athena; but rather an owl with its wings wounded at its apices by splinters of coagulated serum from the very elytra of the Little Owl, a product of the severed of Hephaestus when cutting the skull of Zeus with his ax. Here is in this sub-quantum submission of how it implies that Vernarth takes himself from the elytra of the Little Owl, in order to impel him and achieve the conquest of the flight to Patmos where all his comrades were waiting for him, transforming his body into cells of Glaux of the Greek root γλαύκος (Glauko, bright towards an Ohr Hassadim), ibid of the same Hellenic as he traveled with the wings of the lustrous news that accompanied him, to ensure his return from the nebulosity to Ohr del Shamaim himself, pointing to the death throes of immobility of the team of oxen, which would never move from the wheels to take Lucia of Syracuse to the brothel, without the consent of Hashem.

Behold, Vernarth also within his ethnobotanical oikonos began to come off his second death as Astragalus Glaux with the sharp flowers of his garden famous in his allegories and belongings of herbaceous and confined litanies, which were the same ones that resisted his machinations by splitting them the calcaneus to its hoplites at the Arbela Site, unimpeded by some Astragalus Glaux that suffered in the substrate beyond its narrow ellipses, grouping them in the bleeding calcaneus of its phalangists, where the same length of the leaves served as peduncles dissecting and crystallizing the wounds of his faithful warriors. As a dry evergreen leaf, it was disconnected from the Glaux capsule that shone brightly from the constellation of Orion, and from Barnard's flowered loops, resembling par excellence the shape that extended to the cubic dome of the feet of all its soldiers. Falangists when at once they showed him once that they healed with the healing effect of Astragalus.

This sub-quantum could be attributed to a presumed stalking subplot, separating him in alienation but at the same time benefiting the concentrated attraction towards Sudpichi's coordinates in the Transverse Valleys from where his mother appeared to him from the Castle of Horcondising. His mother does not ask to feel part of some interference in the final awakening of his parapsychology, much less obstructing his liberation from the purgation that was already a concrete reality. Behold Luccica; her mother embodied herself in Thetis, giving her the imaginary role to interpellate in the final ceremony of Himation. Since Thetis constituted the sacred voluntary value of the Hellenes, towards a policy of agreeing her body in submitological assessment that would be legitimized once from the subsidiary body when it was split from its second incidental death of Olympo, already prepared to warn that Hephaestus had severed it. the head to Zeus when he prevented the birth of Athena, but he had two depository heads of the ingredient of Cronion-Zeus remaining until finally in this conclusive edict Luccica could receive his extemporaneous soul after being freed from the retrograde parapsychology that was re-launched in Piacenza. This exerts manumissions that are stubborn of his own will, but exercised through other deities, here Luccica had already learned that Vernarth was released from his kathartírio or Purgation, generating reconciliation with the church of Smyrna that had just been the final epilogue in Elegy VIII, as a concern of liberation such as Vernarth from the Chains of the purgation, as was what Tethys undertook when liberating Zeus from the chains with the drama of Fifth of Smyrna, from where some hold remained in the arms of the mother Vernarth with a duplicate of Achilles, but being Vernarth who was acclaimed with blood brother of all the lineage of the Heroes of the Triumph of the Hellenic Death.
Lid of Myein
Nix Evadne Nov 28
Detengan todo.
Ella está aquí.

Paren el mundo que me quiero bajar.
Bajar para besarla, para recorrerla entera, bajar hasta su entrepierna degustando cada parte de su cuerpo.

La habitación se llena de silencio, silencio roto solo por el hedonismo, por nuestros gemidos.
Su cuerpo, un afrodisíaco absoluto.

Mis manos la buscan, ansiosas; mi boca la descubre, impaciente por sentirla llegar.
Su espalda, suave y delicada, un lienzo sobre el que mi dedo dibuja su columna vertebral.
Puedo sentir como el relieve de su piel cambia, como la temperatura de su cuerpo sube.

Sigo bajando, en un éxtasis que solo Dionisio podría inspirar.
Mis labios trazan un camino que se pierde en su piel; exploro cada rincón, cada curva que forman su figura.
Sus gemidos guían mis movimientos, y yo, absorta, me dejo llevar por el calor de su cuerpo.

Paren el mundo, paren los relojes, paren todo.

Hay momentos que deberían ser interminables.
Quiero guardarlo para siempre: el momento en que alguien me hizo correr más de 5 veces.

Como un tributo a Eros mismo;
ella y su sonrisa.

Nix Evadne

— The End —