My brief collection of poems/writings.
Who do you imagine yourself to be in 5 years?
In a lapse of five years from now, I really don't know who I will be. It is hard to determine such a broad perception of the future without even knowing who you are. It's a question that does not make sense, since the wheel of life keeps spinning and the dice keep rolling for us. Five years from now I can only hope and dream an illusion of myself. I hope I can be better than I am right now and every day have something that makes me want to open my eyes in a parallel redemption. In a world where we can finally be us, and not a symbolism of catharsis driven by hidden emotions. Five years from now, I hope I could change every aspect of myself, but I know that cant happen. It is a process of discovery that requires nearly a lifetime of mistakes and broken promises, but I will try. Five years from now I hope I can achieve all the goals I set myself to accomplish, and in a cold room grasp the essence of success. Five years from now I hope I can stay with the five people I love the most in my life and keep them with a strong lock that doesn't have a key. Five years from now I hope I can keep walking like johnnie walker says, and have a red label of love all over my heart.In those unique five years from now I hope I can hold a camera and say the word “action,” and let the film start rolling. A journey of a lifetime waiting for me in the gamble of the future. In the end I hope I can be myself once again, and find myself lost in the madness of the seventh art.
Three Thirds
Don’t push yourself, kid,
The man in the mirror won’t get you.
You did a great job, the water’s still cold,
But you're holding up okay.
The man in the mirror won’t get you.
You did a great job, the water’s still cold,
But you're holding up okay.
Don’t push yourself, kid,
She loves you, even if you think
You have the wicked eye.
For evil doesn’t kill evil;
It embraces light.
She loves you, even if you think
You have the wicked eye.
For evil doesn’t kill evil;
It embraces light.
Oh, dear boy, the shadows won’t kill you,
But you’re slowly killing yourself.
Change the pages of your lovely book
While you still can.
But you’re slowly killing yourself.
Change the pages of your lovely book
While you still can.
With tragedy, you found love,
And with love, you found yourself.
So don’t push yourself, kid,
You have a golden heart—
Start counting the stars you made shine again.
And with love, you found yourself.
So don’t push yourself, kid,
You have a golden heart—
Start counting the stars you made shine again.
The mockingbirds never taught you how to kill,
They keep flying away.
They keep flying away.
Embrace the tears you deserve to cry,
For your mother won’t notice.
And if she does, tell her you’re making her proud,
With a symphony that won’t perish into despair.
For your mother won’t notice.
And if she does, tell her you’re making her proud,
With a symphony that won’t perish into despair.
She taught you how to fight,
So keep telling her the story
About the girl you love.
She loves to hear you sing.
So keep telling her the story
About the girl you love.
She loves to hear you sing.
Your forsaken dreams—
Go and catch them if you can.
Maybe this life doesn’t comprehend
The story you wrote in a poetic book.
Go and catch them if you can.
Maybe this life doesn’t comprehend
The story you wrote in a poetic book.
All these people don’t know how they feel,
And there are no other thrones
To play the game of salvation but one.
And there are no other thrones
To play the game of salvation but one.
So start writing with ghosts,
The ones with divine comprehension,
And sing us a song—
Sing one we know.
The ones with divine comprehension,
And sing us a song—
Sing one we know.
For your father is listening,
And he keeps telling you he loves you.
In his whispers, you’ll find the story
Of your golden heart,
A melody with a limping rhythm,
Saying everything’s gonna be okay
In a three-chord song.
And he keeps telling you he loves you.
In his whispers, you’ll find the story
Of your golden heart,
A melody with a limping rhythm,
Saying everything’s gonna be okay
In a three-chord song.
Intellectual Suspirium
The mentally slow read the lines crooked,
While the intellectual reads them straight.
In a sentimental, humanizing feeling,
The non-verbal speaks a crooked truth.
A pain he draws with a brush, like a painting.
While the intellectual reads them straight.
In a sentimental, humanizing feeling,
The non-verbal speaks a crooked truth.
A pain he draws with a brush, like a painting.
Like an artist, an undesirable dancer in shadows,
He moves through the shape of love.
Perhaps that's the rolling dice
That slices up the board.
He moves through the shape of love.
Perhaps that's the rolling dice
That slices up the board.
The last time we played this evil game,
In unpredictable desires to be seen.
The final smoke we inhale,
Through addictive chains.
In unpredictable desires to be seen.
The final smoke we inhale,
Through addictive chains.
In this deadly play of tragic mistakes,
I create.
In non-coherent verbal speeches,
And falsified whispers,
A rumor grasped my ear of crystallized war.
I create.
In non-coherent verbal speeches,
And falsified whispers,
A rumor grasped my ear of crystallized war.
False poets write of grass being green,
Of leaves turning red.
A tyranny searching words in a dictionary.
Or they shake like Shakespeare,
Exhaling his last breath.
Of leaves turning red.
A tyranny searching words in a dictionary.
Or they shake like Shakespeare,
Exhaling his last breath.
It's all a metaphorical assumption,
But in the real world, I fell in love
With a real woman,
Whom I write a beautiful sentence for—
Of grammatical nonsense.
But in the real world, I fell in love
With a real woman,
Whom I write a beautiful sentence for—
Of grammatical nonsense.
Breaking a rule my teachers taught me not to,
Breaking the badness within me,
A moonlight will shine again.
Breaking the badness within me,
A moonlight will shine again.
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
The Holy Ghost grabs my hands,
And so I will write a little poem
About an intellectual world.
The Holy Ghost grabs my hands,
And so I will write a little poem
About an intellectual world.
Untitled
I swing along with a spider,
In a nude chronicle of ideas.
I blew so hard, the bricks fell off the wall,
Even if it didn’t rain, I melt you down,
A strange fairy tale misconception.
In a nude chronicle of ideas.
I blew so hard, the bricks fell off the wall,
Even if it didn’t rain, I melt you down,
A strange fairy tale misconception.
No three bears sit at my table,
But something is missing.
Clueless misinterpretations of art,
A masterful drawing,
A painting incomprehensible to the nude eye.
But something is missing.
Clueless misinterpretations of art,
A masterful drawing,
A painting incomprehensible to the nude eye.
Such a magical world, such a magical perspective,
A humanizing pain, a humanizing fear.
A tear falls from the angel’s eye,
And somehow, something is still missing.
A humanizing pain, a humanizing fear.
A tear falls from the angel’s eye,
And somehow, something is still missing.
In an antagonizing life, a radioactive disaster,
Comprehend the nonsense, sinking the blue.
Embracing a rainbow, somehow, I know what you’re thinking.
Even if I know, there’s still something missing.
Comprehend the nonsense, sinking the blue.
Embracing a rainbow, somehow, I know what you’re thinking.
Even if I know, there’s still something missing.
Choir
Further questions stir within my mind,
No heart, no passion reconciles inside.
A divinity as charming as Rome's last emperor—
I seek the nature of good and evil,
Why they intertwine, as vanity and ignorance
Clash in Aurelius' meditations.
No heart, no passion reconciles inside.
A divinity as charming as Rome's last emperor—
I seek the nature of good and evil,
Why they intertwine, as vanity and ignorance
Clash in Aurelius' meditations.
But who am I, a mere mortal,
With divine curiosity for my nature
And those around me?
Who will halt my words from growing,
Becoming parables,
Confusing structures like Babel’s tower—
Cast into chaos by the hands that built it?
With divine curiosity for my nature
And those around me?
Who will halt my words from growing,
Becoming parables,
Confusing structures like Babel’s tower—
Cast into chaos by the hands that built it?
Oh great escape—there is none,
From the true wrath of God.
Our merciful, loving, omniscient being,
Splendor beyond comprehension,
Save me from these hands of dirt.
They sink, and I—your trembling son—
Proclaim your name.
From the true wrath of God.
Our merciful, loving, omniscient being,
Splendor beyond comprehension,
Save me from these hands of dirt.
They sink, and I—your trembling son—
Proclaim your name.
With a majestic sword of a million words,
You shatter the dark aura where I now stand.
I wait, soul bound in fear,
For your awakening to light my path again.
You shatter the dark aura where I now stand.
I wait, soul bound in fear,
For your awakening to light my path again.
Special Day
Today is a special day.
Today, I love you more than I love honey.
Tomorrow, I will forget about you.
Next week, I will question why you are not here.
Next month, despise your silence.
Next year, count my blessings amongst fools.
Today, I love you more than I love honey.
Tomorrow, I will forget about you.
Next week, I will question why you are not here.
Next month, despise your silence.
Next year, count my blessings amongst fools.
Then I will perish in sickness and die.
Then I will seek you.
Then I will find you,
And you will calm my breath with honey.
Then I will seek you.
Then I will find you,
And you will calm my breath with honey.
Oh sweet love, that I want more from,
Do not let me escape your pretty garden.
Enlighten me with passion,
And give me melodies to sing to you.
Do not let me escape your pretty garden.
Enlighten me with passion,
And give me melodies to sing to you.
For easily, we fall into the witches’ basket.
We boil, and crimson red our dry skin gets.
In the wolf's den, they laugh at every joke.
Even there, they dance with its master.
We boil, and crimson red our dry skin gets.
In the wolf's den, they laugh at every joke.
Even there, they dance with its master.
Crooked children play with toy soldiers—
In this place, everything is possible.
Be a bee, and take flight.
This land is too impatient for symmetry.
In this place, everything is possible.
Be a bee, and take flight.
This land is too impatient for symmetry.
Today is a special day.
Today, I figured out how to neither love nor hate the world.
Although tomorrow, I might forget
What you so kindly taught me on this special day.
Today, I figured out how to neither love nor hate the world.
Although tomorrow, I might forget
What you so kindly taught me on this special day.