i act as the poet this night, this time for a Soul with empty stares.  Without
melancholy or extermination, of a broken home with distance mother and father —
believing not knowing that bitter Souls have separated hearts.  Time grows me
older but not my skin nor flesh — bride — we dream within pride!
   others grow death through disease.  So we hard harder toward the feast of Paradise.
Where did she go wrong/ hey! mother! Father!  come back!  i’m trying!
hey!  Mother! Father!  dreamer i commend my light to her dark star,
for family.  
    Nature so stretched out.  Two oiled
lamps with the gentle flame of her flesh.
   I watched over bleched bones and
the clothes of the once impregnated
with seminnoctural material.
  Withing this historic way my bones
and flesh acquired a great thought
of preponderance in my loving
and forever living intentions:
   do you not know I write of you
;those in the future.  
   it’s heavenly.


:: 09.20.2020 ::  

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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