FOLDED are the burnt angelic wings, my last heavenly fight where all celestial beings bled
golden blood, and afterward all wines flowed.
Today i pour thankfulness and tears into a chalice older than the rocks i sit upon.
How temporal beings unknowingly acting out the last drama above their heads.
Entrusted sacred Heart i have armed against injustice.
The stage hand chooses the curtain’s openings and closings.
Watching as i remove cosmic dust from my brow many living and nonliving things around
me perish. Enough! To manage erasure of hope I nakedly rode the wild beast’s silent
leap to perish all joy.
Hiding behind human skin, how admired and hated. One of love one of scorn. Alone, broken,
poor, destituded within a face not living but dead they do not ever see. A poet once said,
“they won’t kill you any more than if you were a corpse.’
History of incredible folly. A mind uniquely landscaped by the cosmic bang i destroy all
understanding of word and stanza, painted the color of vowels! A beauty, E quisite, I loved, O you, U nless i am a dreamer dreaming me.
:: 01.01.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 