[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.

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Contigo, solo aritmetica.Contigo, sólo la casualidad
y los eventos inesperados,
y los días tan contados
que les sumo y les resto las tardes de lluvia,
tinta y café.

Contigo, sólo momentos en fuga;
sólo tú,
sólo aviones de papel,
sólo otro apresurado amanecer
aunque le sume y le reste las luces de la calle,
historias a un teatro,
y un quizás a un de vez en cuando...

Contigo, sólo el azar
Sólo apuestas en que llevo las de perder,
volar o morir en el intento.
Aunque le sume y le reste
a la probabilidad la esperanza;
aunque le sume y le reste
claridad a tu mirada...

Y así colgar sin razón

Fuegos ArtificialesEn el vasto cielo, de mi eterna noche
deambula mi alma deslumbrada, ya a veces ciega,
a orillas del precipicio.
A un paso de caer, a un paso de volar;
dos a uno desafiando la gravedad,
persiguiendo la luz escurridiza de tu mañana.

Era sólo otro mundo, otro lugar
pero brillaban fuegos, a los lejos, en la oscuridad.

Colores incandescentes que se roban los suspiros
y hechizan la mirada.
Colores gitanos, tatuados en mi piel,
Colores ambiguos, de esos que encienden un beso
y queman a los lejos el aliento que escapa en las palabras...
De esos que se enredan, a veces, en las pestañas...

Luces, colores, fuego.
Y es qu

Como actos reflejosTan fácil como respirar
que me quedo quieta y callada
y creo encontrar en tus ojos mi mirada...
y creo sentir que caigo
que vuelo
y a la vez creo sentir nada...
Tan fácil como llevarte sus nubes
y sus marcas y sus fantasmas
y su sombra helada que recorre mis venas.
Tan fácil como regalarme la mañana.
Tan fácil como borrar mi tormenta
y contarme historias de barcos y piratas.
Tan fácil como hacernos compañía en esta soledad colectiva
de encuentros fugaces y en casualidades prometidas
Llevas el aire
traes el aire a mi
Tu aire...

Tan fácil como respirar...

Let her beHold your words in. Let it go onto your breath.
Dare to look beyond and you'll find something more
than the girl who gives a damn about her hair.
Hold your thoughts; don't try to understand
where her eyes are missing. Deep and high above the earth.

You'll never know where she has been,
or where that wide smile comes from.
You'll never know, you'll never know.
that comes from the same place
her scars begun to bleed
and her spirit started to soar.

Hold your index finger, keep it into your pockets
as she paints her sky in green,
as she runs barefoot, as she dares to scream.
as she falls for the rain
as she dares to hop

Cuarto MenguanteQuizás nunca llegue a entender
los mil años que pesan
sobre tus manos.
Por qué tus ojos no mancha la tinta
pero, a veces, desfilan augurios de sombra
y la muerte inadvertida.
¿Por qué le buscas rasguños al cielo?
¿Por qué dibujas cicatrices en la tierra?

Quizás nunca entienda…
La condena de las hojas que caen y
se depositan silenciosas en tu alma
junto con las gotas que callan
de un ayer que nunca llega…
Quizás nunca llegue a entender
Las secretas cadenas que no te atan
pero que sin duda llevas.

Sólo metáforas,
sólo preguntas.
¿Por qué le b

Una historia desesperada-Buenas noches, señorita, ¿Puedo ofrecerle una almohada o una manta?

"Siempre tan amables", pensé. Luego de tratar de dar un poco de calor a mi cuerpo con la manta e inclinar mi cabeza sobre la suave almohada que me trajo; me preparé para un largo y cansado vuelo. Todavía me costaba creer lo que estaba haciendo, me costaba creer que hace dos días mi vida era un cuento de hadas. Ahora, todo era un caos, todo estaba ciento ochenta grados de cabeza. La realidad llegaba lentamente a mi razón como si acabara de despertar de un hermoso sueño. Quizás así lo fue… Mi mente pedía

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by ~Lux-896, Dec 20, 2011, 7:45:29 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Y cuando lo tuve todo
encontré nada…
y con la nada fue suficiente.

Sólo un escándalo en vano
cuando logré al sacudir las cadenas oxidadas.
Sólo otra derrota advertida
al perder, frente al espejo,
otra partida de ajedrez.

Me bastó con una larga fila
de tiquetes caducados que adornaban mi pared
junto con otros más, y quizás demasiados,
poemas inconclusos y dibujos sin papel…

¡Niña testaruda,
no tienes remedio!
Que sigues construyendo castillos a la orilla del mar…
Que sigues derrochando la luz en las pupilas
Buscando, en la inmensidad del cielo,
el azul y el blanco de las acuarelas…

Refractadaby ~Lux-896

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Algunos simplemente somos mártires de los ideales...

~DraskyVanderhoff Dec 20, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Por eso hay que aprender a buscar la felicidad en lo imperfecto, que nos da esperanzas de futuro y libertad.

Me encantaron las metáforas que usas, una cosa que me parece que no suena bien es "tiquetes caducados" creo que estaría bien que escribas tickets o entradas. De esa estrofa me cuesta encontrarle un significado con el resto, salvo por el final que si lo conecta con las otras.

~Lux-896 Dec 20, 2011

(: Que bueno que te gustara. De hecho el poema es bastante enredado y cuando lo terminé le di vuelta a las estrofas 2 y 3.
Tampoco me gustó la palabra tiquete, pero no encontraba otra. Ya pensaré en una.
Abrazos de

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