Grow Back The Sun

I opened my eyes and darkness closed them

I opened my soul and my soul was dim

Who turned off the lights?

I've drowned in the screams and blood of fights

And my heart rode on the back

Of butterflies ten thousand and black

Until off their backs it went on falling

In the sound of a fate that has been calling

What do you see that I can not see?

How can the fall ever set me free?

I believe, Dear god, I do believe

That faith can only truth conceive

Because I believe, so I do perceive

That my love will only love receive

I will allow the fall to carry me deeper

To find my own heart, and finder's keeper

And once I do, like a shooting arrow

I'll shoot it high in twisted paths and narrow

From the oceans of dark water and debris

It will burst into the sky, strong and free

And be it dark or hollow up in the sky

My passion will keep it running high

Up in space, who turned on the lights?

My soul floats around me wide and bright

I saw you loading your gun cold as stone

I saw you shooting my heart off its throne

But the star you shot from your violent gun

Has finally helped me grow back the sun

Go forth, my phoenix, the legacy has just begun

Now watch me grow back ten thousand suns.

I Loved a Poet

Where is death when you need it?

Where does it hide from our nightly cries?

He spares our necks when we prey his sword is fit,

And when we reach for sunshine, the sun itself dies,

He sat to his wooden old desk in light so dim,

He picked up his pen and rested his tensed chin

His elbow resting on spots of ink that turned grim,

Night is carving into the metal of his mind,

And paleness of his skin.

He gazed outward to the world and inside

Into his own land of robot-shaped dreams

And in his eagle heart, even in a desert's tide

He's quick to fly, and rare to return,

He'd be mad to ever return willingly to screams.

He watched a distant imaginary fire burn,

And with it his soul caught the light,

A true poet his soul can be when forced to yearn,

And like every other poet it's never clear,

Until a pen ignites the letters strong and bright.

So he kisses his pen and rolls his tear,

He waves his heart and catches every sign

Of life, strolling thought, stray dream, raging fear,

And it pulls him from ocean to sky to land ever so silently,

He writes a line following it down by another line.

They flow down his throat until he's drunk, an army violently

Reaches for a piece of his racing mind,

And he strangles it by the ink defacing white naturally,

It holds his soul up, above, higher,

So he can never see what he's left behind.

He always wins the race and the soldiers retire,

His chin relaxes and his pen relaxes,

And the paper will forever endure his poetry's fire,

The trees outside his window howl one last time,

And then they too succumb to his axes.

So he seals the end of his victorious rhyme,

On the envelope he writes a name,

And though to actually open it would be sublime,

The name on the envelope was never mine,

And if it were, nothing would ever be the same.

Where is death when you need it?

Where does it hide from our nightly cries?

I loved a poet but whatever his hands writ,

Was everyone else's, it never once my love implies.

Black

The Painting: Gustav Klimt- Love

In the midst of night, I found

My chains all split in half on the ground,

Who took away my shackle's sound?

Who had finally found the key,

To break them off and set me free?

Where could my dearest captor be?

Black, the world misunderstands you still,

Thou, the happiest color of their will,

Black, your power has made the world ill.

And I looked upon your soul that night,

And I saw your beauty deep and bright,

It held me years and years out of sight,

Your chains grew on me and inside,

They circled my heart and crossed my mind

What do I do when they all unbind?

Black, as concrete as they think you are,

Thou are a mystery to me as a star-

Black, as a black hole in a universe afar,

I can stay in my cave forever instead,

Nothing was ever wrong with my stone bed,

I'll wait here for my owner's wine and bread

My master has not come back yet,

The nights have gone through me cold and wet,

Years I've waited since we've last met,

Black, with all your hollowness and our fear,

Thou are the monster rising loud and clear

Black, will you spare us your sharpened spear?

And took off, I have, into the depth of you,

Out from the Labyrinth ruled by you,

And I conquered the lands destroyed by you.

You saw me, I know you did many a time,

I saw you in my house of mirrors and my rhyme,

Often enough I heard our voices chime.

Black, the home of all the homeless,

Thou are the darkness to cure the faithless,

Black, son of a song unbound and boneless.

My chains are gone, my master is gone,

My faith is barely alive in my backbone,

My lips are trembling with names of stone,

And the valley is deep and narrow and long,

And my mind keeps wondering if my feet are wrong,

And my love, Ah! The love beating painful and strong.

Black, the funeral of all things,

Thou, the origin of all beings,

Black,you are the victor on all kings.

I, the queen of the underworld, of caves,

Pass by every moonlit spring, all are graves

For dreams, and screams and pleasure in waves.

I pass by the mud where all the memories leech,

And take them onward wherever my foot will reach,

forwards and backwards and forwards, each gives each.

Black, every other color in you is slew

Thou are the end and the beginning of every hue,

Black, how they all reflect so strong in you.

You tried to kill a fire before, the fire still fought,

It took on every bout of ice you brought,

And lurked in every dream, fear and thought.

Until you learned to embrace my wildest fire,

And it became a power to which you aspire,

Freedom, O master black, is more than just a desire.

Black, who really knows your heart?

An enchained master? Or a slave's depart?

Black, thou are the muse lost in time's art.

Black, the beating core of hope and promise,

Thou are the teacher on the path of freedom's bliss,

Black, guide me into my new owner's abyss.

Two Voices In The Night

Two voices entwined in the night

And it owned them whole, though it set them free

Two voices and no one heard quiet

What the world did hear, what the world did see

Two voices, in two separate beds,

Two hearts, one soul pounding in two heads

Two throats at the mercy of tears

Courageous, strolling on a path of fears

All cleansed away, the night made sure

That with their own hands they find a cure

To all what has gone wrong, all the love

They’ve been denied, all what they strove-

For ended there at the feet of the dark

All the magic landed in this spark

And it lit up a light beyond the visible

''Hold me'' she said, but that wasn't feasible

So he held her in the only way possible,

He stretched his lung and got his heart

And it flowed, so sweet, pure like a start

Of a symphony, Oh sweet symphony

Engulfing us in your infectious harmony

What do you inflame but the stagnation

Of our souls, Symphony of passionate salvation

Beautiful enough to torment us,

Magical enough to make us

Forget all what the world can ever teach us

And drown in this bottomless ocean

Of knowledge, hand crafted wells of emotion

Neatly placed near the graves of childhood

Nearly traced all the way up by the sand

Almost dry, but not quiet,

Because the night is here, and when the night

Looks upon two voices and smiles,

The sand can’t dry this well, no matter how it piles,

The well swells up still and births a flood

Of faith and fire running high in our blood

There has to be more, it has to be longer

There has to be a way to make the moon stronger

For once and forever,

Break off every tether,

And lose all daylight in a rhyme,

Lose all daylight; it's just dead time,

Lose it in my hand, lose it in my eyes

Lose all what you can, for no body dies

When they allow themselves the freedom

To conquer the realms of a mythical kingdom

In their own selves, in their place,

But tonight acknowledges not time nor space

The hands of god has looked upon my prayers few

They’ve looked upon your prayers too

And I could hear the angels promising

That what I asked won't be for long missing

I just didn't care as to what they sang,

For opposite to my bed is where all my dreams hang,

Few short steps away,

Yet further than the light of day

Two voices in the darkness of the night

And he said, I will not survive a lonely bed

So would you rather stay instead,

If I promise I won't say goodnight?

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?

The Night The Shells Changed You

His fingers moved on them back and forth,

Each one holding a million years of worth,

And they ended up in his young strong hand,

Was it always made for him? a gift from the sand,

Sea tides and the last breath of a creature,

And from her, this strong and silent preacher

When she gave them away he did not stop to look

At how the tears in her sparkling eyes shook,

He knew tears, he knew she was scared even though

She was too brave as to let it show,

And he knew his fear too, that's why he so quickly

Hid them away, their edges seemed old and prickly,

they seemed wise and they might have spilled

Secrets that so long his black box had filled,

Their hollowness, look at their core so hollow,

Did picking them up ever sooth her sorrow?

Was I hard to miss?

Did she listen to them and remember our kiss

in their cavernous tides? much like her love

Always sinking deeper, but taking her above,

There, her eyes in them started to appear

In the hollowness to bid the night clear

I remember how she said something about

them having magical powers to clear all the doubt,

and I remember seeing her without really seeing her,

and feeling their magic in such a colorful blur,

If only I can run my fingers on their ridges

without fear of burning her crystal bridges,

If only she would know how those shells

Are such a threat if they cast their spells,

I'd bury them in wells, and to hell with the vow,

I'd throw them back into the sea if I only knew how,

He held in his hand all eight of them

A bridled white that he ought to condemn,

And he stood in the dead of night on the street,

Arms stretched, his hands marked by their heat,

He threw with all his might, but his hand refused

To obey his mind, then the riot diffused,

And soon his heart itself could not comply,

And then his mind fell motionless to their tie,

He would not do it, but he can not acknowledge

that her little shells had sharper than him an edge,

And the bridge, let him walk all over it tonight,

Will he try to throw them away again? He might.

I picked them up from the heart of the sand,

Washed them in the soul of the sea and

Thought that someday they were a home

for a poor creature that died at the foam

of his violent world after having lived deep

After joy lit up high and fear down did creep,

But he died alone and now his home was hollow,

So I took his home for my home to borrow

And maybe when he finds his home someday

He'll need a home to give her,so he'll give them away,

Maybe then their spell would set him free,

God, How I wish they would eventually return to me.

How Do I Love Thee?

My soul fell silent but my pen still demands

Satisfaction for my tongue’s transgressions and

My heart’s conspiracy against my mind’s sanity,

How could you be so childish as to put your faith’s clarity

Into an Odyssey of color? An artistic fallacy

Simplistic in all its depth and rich in frantic malady.

All the wisdom, peace and light of sages fall short,

Of treating symptoms of that austere sort,

For all what sages do is to touch the mind,

You see, mind’s nothing to do with diseases of that kind,

All its power, so overrated by the world, tumbles down

At the sight of so much as your beloved’s frown,

So what is the use of pens when the soul is mute?

Even when my heart bears enough of fruit

To feed the whole lot of Africa for centuries ahead,

And still I leave them to rot under my bed,

They turn black slowly, like the inside of my skin,

They lose their volume like my patience running thin,

And sin? Of all the reasons, why has god created sin?

For girls like me to run to, at the sight of every lost win?

For men’s decisions to seem relevant? For the whim

To be more meaningful? For our imaginations to swim

In oceans deep without of the fear of losing breath?

You know imagination dies the moment it senses death,

But not mine, I’ve reached for death willingly so many times,

It has been a most prominent theme in my rhymes

Since I first died at the hands of a fleeting knight

Who lost his place in the kingdom and rode out of sight,

And ever since he disappeared, I’ve died for all the same

Reasons, the same tunes, and I’m the one to blame,

Even though they had all the weapons sharp and ready,

It’s my fault entirely for making their hands so steady,

In the process of my slaughter, on the altar of daymares,

At the feet of happily ever after, now at the feet of a pier,

And how do I love thee? Let me count the ways,

I love thee in the dreams of the sun, and when the moon prays,

I love thee like a stream of light with all the universe’s stars

Wrapped inside it and rushing to its cage’s invisible bars

To expand then implode in colors never discovered and

I love thee with the color in painter’s eyes and poet’s hand,

I love thee with the passion of witches for hidden nature,

And got them burned by the fire of the same creature,

Consumed, ashes to ashes, ashes back to earth,

And whatever ends in earth must look upon a rebirth,

So ashes to ashes, love, I know I’ve said it before,

Go unheard of, go free, go captured underneath the floor,

My love is not for owning, it’s for my poetry alone,

My soul if not for yearning, would’ve turned to stone.