Torment

At times like this we pray,

But we have no tongues,

What to do when all our ways

Are stacked in airless lungs?

At times like this we believe,

But we have no souls,

What can a man with little heart grieve

Without letting all his masks fall?

The hand of the poet sleeps,

In the faithless moments to dream,

Reality into the darkness seeps,

And it becomes one with his scream,

Not said but understood,

Not understood but surely known,

How can his eye willingly embrace the blood

When beauty took off its garments and shone?

Blood is the storyteller beneath the skin,

Blood is the silent pathways trapped,

Carrying trails of virtue and sin,

How when spilled can they by a poet be grabbed?

Early enough, to burn bright down the street,

Late enough, to destroy all what they touch,

They run and curve and under his feet

They stop, Ah! Why begin a flow as such?

The poet wanders, the city falls dead,

And he, alone, a prayer so silent,

At the last place a word rests her head,

His temptress muse, gone into a vacuum violent,

A response with the last trace of air,

In exchange to holding on to a world

His world, even more real than their

Cage with their own greed a sword,

There he stands grieving his own childhood,

And their he grieves their most dreadful sin,

and he shuts his eyes as tight as he could

So tell me, poet, lover, friend, father, twin,

In your world, does the devil still win?

Requiem

The Dust

All Hail the Almighty, in whom we trust,

Even in your mortifying silence, and in ours eternal,

Even when our elders are dead long since in their lives,

At the feet of all the wrong paths, the worst strives,

And they’re reaching to us with hands infernal.

To embrace our ambition, wrap our soul in a stench,

That spoiled their best days and to drench

All our dreams in their rotten reality,

We’ve long forgotten the tales about pixy dust,

Though young, in the dust of graves we trust,

And we’ve stopped seeking traces of your humanity,

The scars are darkened showing your profanity.

                                         

The Blood

Scarlet ribbons stained with mud,

My wounded lakes formed a flood inside,

The color of a mad portrait of St. Valentine

Seeing virtue in slaughtering love and drinking its wine,

And like you he got drunk on it, in his false pride.

The blood gushing from my wound into heaven,

Smelled even better than this obsession forgiven

By true love itself, never seen outside my soul,

And my feet splattered more blood across the floor,

As I run and slam my body from door to door,

Desperately trying to scream out one last call.

The Grave

I’ve heard them saying that I’ve been brave,

Just because in the universe I obtained a voice,

For I was born in chains, to people in chains,

I’ve looked down and saw aligned slaves on lanes

Stretching to doom, so there was no other choice.

When I heard the angel in the sky that sings

An ancient song, that a lifetime ago I had wings,

And if I found them anew they'd take me to heaven,

So I followed the harmony of the blissful sound,

He just never said that the doorway in the ground,

Is the only path to fly above skies seven.

The Light

Always uncovered in the darkest blight,

Our faith when our eyes fail to see

The dark night in its very core,

Slowly and gently beating for us to explore,

Where it hides when it goes deep into the sea

Then it emerges from the mountain, what rays carry,

And if I let it guide my path will my eyes grow weary,

Light, O, oldest friend of the dark,

The blood of angels in our mortal veins,

I’ve found you lurking in a thousand broken chains,

And when death strikes, it sets your spark.

The Monster and I

There’s an open grave in my backyard,

From which monsters and zombies emerge,

Strolling past every wall I build and every guard,

To sleep in my home’s corners, in every dream, every urge,

Be it innocent, sweet, sour or wild,

I have no reasons to open my eyes when they

Come howling, I know their voices like a child

Knows his mother’s lullaby at the end of the day,

No more do I open my eyes to anything

Even when I know the room is flooding with light

Warm and divine, I know exactly what the birds will sing

About hope bringing traces of morning into my night,

But I know the colors will just burn my eyes

Shut again, so I listen for your steps solid

Walking into the room with unmistakable confidence fluid,

I will not make a sound; I will not make a move,

I’ll wait for you to carry me to the floor

And tighten every last chain after you remove

Every mechanism that ever kept you from my core,

I feel your breath spreading over my skin as cold

As death piercing its way to my hollowed heart,

As you stroke my hair with your fingers of gold,

And sing me a dirge that hurts from the very start,

‘’Hush, child of unheard passion and untold sin,

Hush your wretched soul and open your eyes never,

Hurt not from the metal’s pressure against your skin,

It’s dead nature will kill your soul’s quiver’’

Don’t I know you? I’ve listened to you before,

All your songs, your screams, the faith of your soul,

You’re my favorite monster that would spare no door

Unbroken just to watch me fall.

Have we never been safer here,

In my night that never ends?

Have we never burned a tear

In honor of being such loyal friends?

Have you not rejoiced in the twist

Of my waist and untrimmed mind,

And we tried for a million times to resist

The room where lightning bolts entwined?

Have I not drank poison from your palms

And begged you for some more

To bring the high waves when the calm

Is killing me slowly with its lazy roar?

Yes, it was always you, I recognize you,

The metal, the chill, your steady voice, the thrill

That fills in the corners of my blurring view

And saves me from the still night’s kill,

Now, though I can not see you with my eyes closed,

I know you’re sitting in the corner waiting

As my body in its chains so vulnerable and exposed

Twists relentlessly in the waves of pain I’m creating,

I can feel you deeply inhaling,

And taking in the smell of my burning,

Beating heart moaning in its cage and slowly failing,

As you sip on the pleasure of my yearning,

Isn’t this the dance we’re dancing now?

You walk in uninvited but surely knowing

That the moment you enter I will kneel down and bow,

Despair taking the wheel even though pride’s showing,

Shyly it peaks behind the clouds, a bird

That in a few short moments will fly away

Never again to be seen or heard

Of until the breaking of a new meeker day,

So here I am, eyes closed, limbs spread, skin bared,

And chains locked with their keys nowhere to be found,

Waiting for the mutilating exorcism, word by sharpened word,

That will finally drive away the obsession with your sound,

And if it should fail and you should keep

Lurking in corners where I can not reach

And haunting every dream waking and asleep,

Then I should accept my fate and then beseech

To the rotten effigy in the temples of lust

Where black-eyed nuns drinking from the lakes of oblivion,

Will pour tears in my eyes to unlock it, then thrust

A dagger through my heart to end your dominion,

I would shake vigorously in my shackles and make a sound,

Aimed to drown yours but you’ll never disappear,

For the grave that you came from in the ground

Is still open wide to grant the world my every fear,

And maybe be in time when you finally taste my blood sweet

On your curved lips, sliding down your throat,

You’ll walk around carrying my rigid body on the street,

And screaming at the top of your lungs the poems I wrote,

You’ll tell the world the story of you and I,

How we were always wrong and always right,

How our worlds collided but we never asked why

Our spark of light never took flight,

You’ll preach to the air how I was your friend

And how your finger prints are all over my soul

And like grey afternoon in a summer, up until the end

How our eyes mocked our existence with walls of coal.

Pretty Mary is a Princess Sweet

Pretty Mary is a princess sweet

In her fluffy dress and her little feet,

Bouncing around in dances and twirls,

Flying around, her blonde perfect curls.

Pretty Mary is a princess sweet,

That loved to get all the candy she could eat

Her mommy made her all sorts of that,

But said ‘’Careful baby or you’ll get fat.’’

Pretty Mary is a princess as sweet

As honey in a glass jar kept safe and neat

With her little sisters playing a new role-play

In a pink castle for which daddy did pay.

Pretty Mary is a princess sweet

That’s why daddy built her this retreat

And she looked out the window to the front yard

Expecting a prince to appear when life gets hard.

And because pretty Mary is a princess sweet,

She kept her eyes focused on the street

All she did for days was to wait in her glittery pink

Keeping her songs and the birds’ in perfect sync.

Pretty Mary such a princess sweet

Who sheltered behind plastic walls from the heat,

But weary in time they turned to an ugly brown,

And like London Bridge they’re falling down.

Pretty Mary Rushed to her daddy’s seat

Where he always sat with books elite

Next to all the shelves and the old fireplace

She found the fire had eaten her daddy’s face.

Pretty Mary ran out on the concrete

On cold and wet paths with her bare little feet

Help, is there a prince out there

That could save a damsel young and fair.

Pretty Mary with her hands petite

Clinched to the coats of strangers on the street

Even though they pushed her, she bounced back

And men’s muddy coats turned her hands black.

Pretty Mary the princess sweet,

Did not understand how to take defeat,

For being kept in an blunt Ivory tower,

Can drain away all a girl’s power.

Pretty Princess Mary slept on the street

And sang her song for a million souls to repeat

From pink to black her dress had changed

From self to soul her heart was chained.

Pretty Mary no more answers to sweet

Or princess, those terms are obsolete,

Pretty Mary fell, neck down, on a stick,

Just to realize she’s not made of plastic.