Solo

Leave him to his solitude
where the light bulb lurches
over the bed
making love to the dark
huddled against the ceiling
and the blankets all are beaten
like wayward apologies.

Let the clock by his pillow
break the sad news
and tally the lies
of her comings
and goings
and their coupling
under the canopy
of weightless flesh
where love once disturbed their sleep
and her arms still ached enough
to break their fall.

For midnight will catch the floor
like it always does
the upwelling of her words
left bristling in the carpet
and send him spilling
in the dark
like blistered silk
setting sadly into the dawn -
just another memory
found missing in the morning.

My Theory Of Love

Love is who I am
who I am afraid to be
Love is what will finally
bring me to my knees
for her,
so many of them

the one who I saw come out of her
mother's womb
the one who's dark skin is
just like mine
the one who when she cries
brings tears to
my eyes
the one who cried without me
and now wants to be without me

Love will either make me or break me
it will be my beginning
or my end
It will let me love you
even if it is only
as my friend

Love is accepting that there are some
mistakes that cannot be undone
but believing that Love
will get me past
the past
to once again enjoy
your sun

Love is having faith
in you and me
believing that there is
eternity
even when the fear is great
that you will just walk away
but humbling myself
and hoping anyways

Love is
the one named you

Dreams Hard To Find

As a boy – free and un-preoccupied
I climbed trees and flew kites.
I played and lived
Under the sun.
I hunted dreams
And listened
To old haunted stories.
I ate life
And kindled
The forces of nature.

As a man,
I became a witness to destruction.
I walked
Aimlessly
Always missing
The beating sound
Of the heart I left
Buried behind.
My memories smile.
They cast derision
Upon the futile attempt
On my behalf
To usurp a zen-like
Indifference to their place.

I walk alone
Tired and shamed
Craving a companion
A kindred soul
But I live
On a desolate land
Where solitude and space
Are a fiercely guarded commodity
I sing to the wind
And the moribund butterfly
Who seems more together
Than the whole of my life

The Skies That Lie

Everything breaks, but there is no noise
The world shatters in silence once again
And we are tools, flesh created toys
We are puppets, all part of the plan

Who created emotions? Love or pain
What should I believe is true?
The feeling of a kiss in the rain
Or the feeling when your life is through

Nothing lasts forever
But few things can wait
Because you still didn't say never
And I feel it's my own fate

I close my eyes to the open skies
Wishing them to guide me through
Now they only whisper lies
Which will never lead me to you

Everything breaks, but I can't hear it
The world stands still once more
Those hard emotions will always be there
Hiding what the future might have in store

Under those heavy clouds I stay awake
Waiting for tomorrow to cover my eyes
As everything's getting blurry
Once again, under those lying skies

What The Eyes Can't See

If you think you know me -
You don’t.
If you believe I am only what your eyes see,
You are not looking deeper into mine.

My color and shape
Are only reflections of blood and some borrowed DNA
Of those who brought me here.

In here also lives something
More obscure and complex
Than just this accused and guilty body of flesh.

It is an eternal fire…
Passed down by the very beginnings of all generations.
It can’t be seen or heard by eyes
Formed out of looking only at the shelter of this light.

I am not going to explain why
I have this moment with you.
I will only say,
“I am your brother.”

I am not what you see while speaking in my own voice.
I am what you feel in that single moment
When you finally open your eyes.

So please hear me well
And we will speak again.

An Epiphany

Things change.
Everything that was
no longer is.
Different ideals
form new actions.
Who am I?
Who are you?
I ask ---
no answer
just a gust of wind
sweeping my pleas away ---
We are living in a bizarre dream,
a misperception of what it means to be.
What do we really know
about being warriors
dying for a righteous cause?
To who do I owe my loyalty to?
To the sleep-walkers
whose actions are only mechanical
and without feeling or thought .
. . or to my homeboys
if any, at all exist . . .?
I hear many theories
on how life should be
and what some of us
should do with ourselves;
but what should I do ---
sit around and wait for others
to decide my fate?
And maybe catch another ten, or fifty
more years . . . better yet, that
life sentence the Judge reserved for
a later time
will be finally mine.
Each day the battle
to keep my sanity
amidst this madness continues . . .
Once, or twice
I’ve wanted to give up
to throw my hands up
and surrender to the worst part of me. I’m sick and tired
of being clueless
in my own life.
I need a reason to continue
not a mysterious gain
for the good in me
I’m trying to recuperate.
Once again
I am pestered by ideals
not of my own
founded to fight a cause
which up to this moment
I don’t have a clue
of what exactly
it is supposed to be about . . .

Get Over It

How can I get over not

seeing his eyes?

Not hearing his laugh,

ever again?

Get over the smile

that gave me

a reason for

living?

The child that

taught me to

be a man?

The child that

held my

heart

in

the

palm

of

his

hand?

Never....