Stealing Summer's Breath

I want to wander through

the darkest of nights,

the deepest of seas,

the brightest of summers,

the bleakest of days.

I want to wander

through the intricacies 

and complexities 

that make living life unfair.

I want to wander,

through hell and perdition,

through the roads to Zion 

and the gardens of Eden,

I want to wander

through life, empty headed

and childish by nature.

I want to wander,

to discover my past in the 

footsteps of the future

imprinted on clouds reflecting

all the days and all the nights

I’ve been treading through

the solemn paths of life.

Behold this horrid wretch,

his guilty splendor 

and pleasantly plundered trophies

hung from his ceiling by

a shoestring and a blown kiss.

Behold this pitiful mess,

his horrid dreams

and his blatant disregard for all things

moral and nice.

Behold this common fool,

his empty head and clear conscience,

his shallow blood and mimicked smile

seemingly all too familiar.

Behold this, this man,

who suffers from a terrible disease,

a preposterous misfortune that has

left him inept and inert.

Behold this brother of ours,

stricken with humanity,

and all of its wonder.

The most fearsome trait a man can possess is mortality.

Not in the sense that he fears the prospect of death, or passing along into a world unknown, but because he acknowledges his fallibility, that he too can be defeated. In spite of his weakness, he carries on. That is the mark of courage, the awe striking glow of man; to know that he too may perish, but he still endeavors to conquer his foes.

My smile is pale

and my teeth are rotten,

my tongue a tattered old rag

flopping in the wind of my

hoarse and heavy breath.

My cheeks are frail and meek,

a dusty gray from the pains

and ash from another workweek.

My forehead calculating and creased,

a pensive preacher’s mark.

My lips are cracked and bruised,

my ears a shriveled mess of 

the misconstrued. 

Yet, you still wish to see 

my skin color the red of the sunset

and my smile open wider than the sky.

Amazing, truly a wonder,

to take interest in something so ugly,

so helpless, so frail, so..human.

Oh darling won’t you leave my head

for just one night.

Let me sleep, tonight,

my dear,

let me rest my weary head,

before you throttle it back and forth

until a few screws succumb to rust

and a few gears grind into dust

with a fragrant smile

and a simple touch of hearts

from across a crowded earth.

I beg you give me

but a moment of your time,

but a blink of an eye

to pry apart your lips

sealed with secrets 

and sadness, to open

wide the smile hiding

beneath the cover 

of regret.

Let’s play a game, shall we?

Let’s see who can find the most

creative way to say I want you

in my life. 

Winner loses the satisfaction

of getting it right.

Change is the intangible, ineffable author of life, whose pen is only constant in its inconsistency.

Oh what a lovely curse I’ve found

bestowed upon my jagged brow.

I’ve been trapped and bound to the sweetly songs

of a solemn bird, blossoming like the summer’s

finest flower, grinning like the sun’s widest smile.

I feed from her sugary hymns, hummed higher

than her head held above the clouds,

where she sings and swoops far, far above

the comprehension of my meager head.

Why, I’ve been cursed!

By a darling bird, who sings so gently.

Her beauty ineffable,

trapping, really. 

I’ve been digging around through the memories

settling out at the bottom of a mind

glassy and gilded like a helpless chandelier.

I’ve been picking a few scabs to see the progress

they’ve made transcribing my stories

into finely tuned echoes. 

I’ve been sifting through the sediment 

that I used to scribble my soul into

to see what turn I missed

when I decided to understand just what made me

miss this feeling once again.

I do not fear oblivion

Nor do I regret or fret 

over the petty mistakes.

I taste the philter of death,

its sweetly sung vows

and tarty line breaks,

bubbling upon my lips.

I do not acquiesce to its lure,

nay, I do not fear 

the weight of his heavy breath.

I do not fear oblivion,

for I do not fear myself.

As I lie, short of time 

and devoid of even a single 

wisp of truer life,

I accept this fate 

as heartbroken,

for I do not fret or regret

what petty mistakes I’ve made.

I wish you all the best of days. I’ll be posting more tomorrow.

In the meantime, enjoy your family and celebrate the day, Christian or not. Christmas is about celebrating the splendors of life we’ve been granted, whether it’s HDTV or running water. Celebrate those you love, those you can’t stand, those you’re yet to know. Most importantly, celebrate yourself. Merry Christmas to all.

Thanks for the early Christmas gift, Mr. Sanchez.

My luck is lackluster and my patience is running thin, and by god I don’t think I can handle this again

And I will run 

until my feet are ground to stubs.

It matters not the path,

not the gap to leap

or the shortness of breath. 

I will run, 

until my bones have turned to dust.

For I’ve no wings to propel myself above,

and I’ve no claws to burrow myself below.

I’ve only been blessed with

a flurry of footsteps to carry me away

from the growing pains of

growing old.

I will run from this fate,

the fate that remains, even to itself,

unknown.

Eternity is not some distant land that we are blinded from,

it is not some ancient past we’ve been blinded by.

Nay, eternity is now.

Eternity is love.

Eternity, simply is.

She drew the might

of my narrow eyes

like the sinews 

of a hunters bow.

.

She toked the flames

bridled otherwise

yet burning brightly

beside my ravenous foe.

.

She stalked me through

the endless night, caught

me awestruck in the pallid

moonlight, a helpless doe.

.

She trekked through the

sullen forests and desolate 

fields trapped between her

pride and my wholesome woe.

.

She is the huntress of my

lonesome heart, laying traps

of lustful allure to let my eyes

flicker fast and my heart beat slow.

.

She drew the fury 

of my wandering eyes 

like the sinews 

of a hunters bow.

.

And sooner than she knew,

she had me trapped in the glare

of her morning dew.