"ocasionally" poems
That night she wanted to prove her beauty.
So she killed all light.
Letting only a dim-dip from the moon to reflect how she danced seductively in calm, bold waves, wearing her night black gown now
heading my way .
That night I felt her beauty with all names men had for senses and some god only knew existed.
The sea was always a possesive lover who's satisfied only when humidity consumed every inch of me,
Leaving my breath heavy, skin sticky with her water.
But that night, as if assured I'll be hers forever she pulled back
sending unapologetic rough wind that matched the loud waves still dancing beneath me.
I closed my eyes and layed down on her shore in complete surrender;
letting her wipe every memory of love before her.
"Wash me"I mouth loud enough only for her to hear.
Why was I touched before.
My brain became heavy with her smell that I kept ******* gulps of, and felt tears collect themselves in my eyes.
I discovered the happiness they kept bragging about in complete decoy.
If only they know what happiness felt like.
Ocasionally I'd peak at her to see endless folds of black and my heart runs fast with fear of its majesty.
She accepted what I am, enjoyed swallowing my dark thoughts into her even darker descending bottoms.
Her distance made it clear I was not to touch, only taste her.
For once I couldn't mind,
I threw the weight of my sorrow and passed into a state I still don't have synonyms for.
Her love made me complete,
I was ready to leave this life then and there with no regrets or a second look.
For everything would be tasteless after her
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
Ocasionally, on a breezy night, when
the winds are blowing through.
I listen as the grasshoppers chirp, and
paint the morning dew.
And In the morning when
the chirping choir has gone their seperate ways
I hear the clouds rumbling in
to bring the afternoon some shade.
Soon the clouds grow darker, as
they hide the sun from sight.
Bringing out the glorious moon,
and turning day to night.
Then the winds start howling,
calling out their names.
Bringing out the night time chirpers,
to sing their song again.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
I / Before
I moved slowly,
always wanting to reach
the end of the narrow roads.
I found deceptions and satisfactions;
more deceptions than satisfactions
and more plurals than singulars.
I coveted everything
beyond these high walls,
even so I didn't rush my life.
I believed in other people's beliefs
and I hoped which from me
the time to slip away... killing me, then.
II / During
However, neither it I could get.
I followed so many ways
and neither they could help me.
Ocasionally I sighted daisies
blossoming on the walls
and among the tiles of the streets.
Sighting so many daisies was madness.
Well, to hell with sanity!
And what would be of life without its paradoxicality?
Much suffering for little time!
Little contemplation for much beauty!
Much anguishe for little heart!
III / After
Oh, the other side:
feared by a few,
coveted by others.
Although the labyrinth
seems infinite and sufferable,
we can find the exit together.
The question is not how we can get out,
reaching, at last, the afterlife;
and yes, how we can end with so much suffering.
To start over, we must wake up!
To wake up, we must exist!
And like this, life will wait for us!
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
No one choses to suffer,
No one choses to "always be sad",
How could you say Depression is only a 'choice'?
"Oh, it's only just a fad."
You must think it's simple,
To go on and wake up,
Your life must be so easy,
Hell, it isn't so tough.
Tell me about all the money, that can be counted in bills,
How many people are truly there for you,
How you live atop a hill.
Was it you who was nominated, the best at your job?
The one who graduated and had enough to eat?
Or were you the one I last saw,
Who cried himself to sleep?
Perhaps you were the one who had enough to be on his own,
Maybe you were the one in a bar, drinking yourself away-alone.
Tell me how you live your life, always with a smile and your ego so high,
How you never once sat and had thought, "I might as well die."
Depression is not hypocritical, it is a sickness to many,
Whether or not you can or cannot count every penny.
It doesn't always scream, it doesn't always cry,
It can often be found in painful laughs, or a clever written lie.
Some may suffer gravely, some found in death,
Some may be pained ocasionally or with every strangled breath.
It is found in young or in old, man or woman of the world,
Some by the embraced or those who have been hurled.
The next time you speak of fortune,
To insult or to brag,
Make sure your own life isn't begging-
behind a fitted mask.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
In my dream that I love and hate to recall-
The sky is made of amethyst,
and you’re dancing in a metal kitchen,
laughing, telling me
that God is a handsome blonde guy.
Your last miracle
was making spring come sooner.
And I love you for that.
Memory of the first time I saw your smile,
Now ocasionally sneaks out of my eyes
and rolls down my cheek
I used to trip over our memories,
breaking a bone or three,
but now I just crack open windows,
let the air in,
Finally accepting to live with divorce and sunset.
Your voice notes expired
long before I was ready.
The realization settles first
beneath my lungs,
then crawls up my throat
before sinking into my coffee.
I miss you,
but I won’t ask you to come back anymore.
I finally understand.
Goodbye, my friend.
Be free.
May 13, 2025
May 13, 2025 at 1:40 PM UTC