Picking myself upward once again; this time within smaller pieces, feelings are dying within
the madness of what rules the air AND BELOW dwell sparks of lit Souls unaware whilst the hoard
approaches and feeds upon their dreams but never their Souls.
free of lust and love which at times will collide, your hearts won’t be blessed by action or by words
where happiness and wisdom reign the round of the table, around the loft, under the wine,
twixt the body and the mind, of me.
As the grey crust begins to show the deep brown of fresh clay. Every spoken word will bring down the mood
so I’ll focus on the one thing to keep my focus, I am alone.
Yet, by virtue of my physicality one hopes for a kind word. So, I’ll keep moving slowly, glancing back
to see if anyone has called my name or if a lonely soul who has wandered in from the road, after a long
bitter winter and often for centuries like day or night until I am emptied of the boredom into which
I’ve fallen finding no clue, in fact the world has grown even more bleak and seems to exist merely
for the sake of entropy and/or people who remain blind to their own shadow: I am yet a wonder.
Yet, there’s still something to be said of the smile of a baby whose touch wakes love in my heart.
A story to be told as a longing sigh even as it reminds me of another long ago as a grandchild can.
I am yet a wonder.
I’ve seen them come and go. I stand here in the darkness each time seeing one that knows I know,
he knows I know, he knows I know he knows, he knows I know, he knows and no one comes.
No one comes.
I have seen them quietly move in and out while other’s slept: I have seen the lights dim
and give up all light like a little league game where the score is tied — no one wants to win,
no one wants to lose, we all just want to play.
“Give me your hand and I’ll tell you something” I said. “I’ll tell you something. You’ll find out
where you’re going to be. You’ll know what this one is, and you’ll never forget, this was a friend of mine,
and you’ll never see him again. no matter what I promise. you’ll be in good hands.”
hold on.
hold on.
hold on.
no matter what, no matter what.
I promise.
I promise.
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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