Prose Poem #1

As I pen this piece, I’ve everything to lose, I’ve much to gain.

Seems to me, lately, life’s not about being sure, but instead, life is about being who you are. And, most importantly, it’s about being certain of whom will be there for you when all seems like a heartless, desolate oblivion.

This is never ceasing gospel that prevents ghastly, ghostly, and lonesome regret.

Disdain remains in absentia. More or less kind and plain, I feel less lame, i feel less insane.
Taciturn and in pain, I reside at home from the holidays, writing to unwind with kind hearted warmth.

Still though, I feel so afraid.

Blissful and derelict
Hearts careen the city streets,
Oh young American love.
And its never-unravelling feats.

Me kissing tears off her face and her whispering angelic-apologetics
I teem with admiration and adoration for a woman
Whom admires everyone she meets.

Beyond yesterday’s world, today sparkles like glitter in the sense that it shall remain for quite some time.
Today’s wonder all too often undermined.

Life’s about the thoughts that stick, the things that make the clock happily tic’, and the poet’s shtick.

Alas! I miss playing her teeth like a xylophone!

Sure, she’s not my wife. But she’s indubitably an integral part of my 2017 life.

She has dirty blonde hair and pretty white teeth.
Her emerald ocean eyes glisten like the arboreal reef
And change into auroras when she experiences grief.

Hope my attitude won’t be proclaimed too long overdue.
There’s much to revere, much to laud, and many sins to exalt, for between me and you, solitude is more of a isolationist prison.

What of all the false starts? Are they merely an all too common tragedy of broken hearts?
Truth is, I am pretty new to relationships, which is pretty strange since I am rapidly approaching twenty-four.

Yet, I am not so stupid as to just walk away from the woman whom makes me spirits soar well above the star sphere into a tranquil place,
a rueful space that’s truly the nearest to salvation I’ve ever known;

This hyper-inspirational feeling of infinite grace is what I see when a smile, blesses her face.

Only so much can be healed from proclaiming, “I love you.”
At least, that’s what I used to think.

As my hair is twirled, all seems fine with my girl. She rewards direction and not frustration. She causes my fits of elation.

Present during my downfalls, when nothing but tears fall,
She clearly cares and rids the air of my despairs.

I don’t know what to think anymore;
However, I do know how to believe in love from before.
I believe it can be restored to a splendiferous state of fanciful glory.

That’s the beauty of life, isn’t it? That life’s willy-nilly glory can be revised and revisited until all that remains is a beautiful love story.

She’s the I love you to my breathe lines. She is the liberation and motivation of my free verse. She is the sun of my sweetest sonnets. She is the rhythm of my heart. She is the meter and rhyme in every line.

She is the reason I am making time to love my mind.

Our hair a mess, laying together undressed, cuddling for life, kissing away the pain. Her breasts pressed upon my chest. I really hope she cares more for me than the rest. Either she does or no man has ever been more of a fool.

Founded in our hearts and rarely-seething in our minds, I have faith in the grand design of the unknown future.  Wherever it may lead, I will have learned a lesson.

And, that will always be enough for me.


Half Asleep but Already Dreaming

“Mostly my fault?” I guess. I’ve been such a mess.
Can’t believe the mess I’ve been.

Neither can my family.

“Merry Christmas,” I guess. Christin’s a mess.
I’m the same.
So much shame,
For which we’ll never be the same,
For which I’m to blame.

With never-decaying affection,
Risen somewhere beyond tomorrow,
I hope to see her again.

She still chats with me.
Glee courses through me,
Through my heart
Down to my soul.

Things are droll.

Gives me hope.
Hope for all of us.
Dreams of tomorrows together
Abound and resound
In my bones.

“Here’s to luck,” I guess.

Sonnet #21

Bliss holds no prisoners.  Reason rarely lies.
Nor did she.  The pain feels like forever too.
Everything around seems like rain overdue.
I guess in order to flourish one cries.
“More beautiful than colors during Fall!”
That’s what I used to say about her.
I miss her.  When feelings fade, they blur.
Sands in my hands flowing through what I scrawl.
At least I don’t foresee a greater
disaster soon.  However, I miss my
Clare-de-Lune.  All that’s left to do is try…
Try again.  Try for me. Try for better.
Time heals my lonely heart.  Time always heals.
For now, I am trapped in achey feels.

Sonnet #20

Sent to you as love sonnets from afar,
Lyricisms transcend despair.  No dread.
So many memories flowing—all supreme.
I am experiencing brighter colors.

I feel nothing but dreams and improvement.
Red-purple, blue-green, and black-white-yellow,
I finally feel the right amount of mellow.
Despite desperate efforts for acceptance,

Few grow to know the doubt of happenstance.
There has to be something more to life.
Apocryphal hate-feels in the tirades.

I became so sad I could not even sing.
Life’s tough at twenty-three and no ring.
Bliss holds no prisoners, nor does it fade.

Ode to the Western Wind

To chart the World’s imagination… Feelings.
Here’s to the innocent people been freed.
Here’s to city street swag and long lost strangers.
The moonlight walks down the riverside express.

Free artifacts of dizzying love spells. 
Concretized into mires, tears, and cheers.
Seems like we climb our own Chains of Being.

Psyches are all-consuming .  Religions
we explore. Cryogenic civilizations n time,
mythologies we create. Legends of microcosms’
past filter through the currents of thought,

Between the moon, you, and I, I abhor and
Am tired of fleeing, fearing and failing.
Wintry ways of Histories’ burgeon into
Civilization-wide cacophony.

Sonnet #19

I love myself for all that I’ve ever been.
I feel right with myself and mental health.
We all ascend our own mountain.
When I think of how I miss all of you…

All I want lately is you to come around
To lay under the hellfire heavens of greying skies
Of the highs that waltz into our everyday.

While we burn bright-hot, let’s melt
Every one’s icy misgivings until the mountains
Are submerged, the fires extinguished,

Surely, all that will be left is one enormous
             sea of love.
Let’s build bridges over teary-valleys.
To reckon a supreme state of Love…


Like a sun
From the heart
Of a wild lioness.

Tales of wonder
Sailed about the stars,
Heralded you
Long before you were born.

A golden time and place
rests within all of our minds.

What if this beautiful, blissful experiences are reality?
The rest… Well, the rest is chaos.  Or more appropriately,
Forgotten truths that lost meaning to a particular group.

Tonight my Dad said, “Stay hip with the times
And more importantly, stay true to your heart

So much delight.
So creatively free.

Between you and me, I always accept them…
you know, the happy thoughts.

Why? Because…

Because, I’d rather die wrong and happy than wrong and sad.