Daily Archives: May 23, 2024

May 23, 2024

A Summer Dawn’s Parade

By EPRobles

In summer’s light, the dawn’s soft kiss,
Awakens leaves, the vapors’ bliss.

In this park’s corner, sounds arise,
As on the left, where shadows guise.

A fairy parade, indeed, I see,
Floats decked in gilded imagery.

With masts and canvases, they sway,
As twenty steeds in circus array.

Children and men, on beasts they ride,
In carriages old, adorned with pride.

Flags and flowers, a colorful show,
In pastoral attire, they gladly go.

Even coffins, ‘neath the night’s shroud,
With ebony plumes, a solemn crowd.

Trotting along, with mares so grand,
In blue and black, they make their stand.

:: 05.23.2024 ::

Note:

Poetry is so beautiful. One day, oh one day, I wish to write a great poem!

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May 23, 2024

I am Not Who I am

By EPRobles

It was the woman that I saw in the bookstore. And to whom I spoke and who spoke to me. I was in a public library of sorts. All people coming and going. The room then became without light. They came to tell me that she was at my house. Waiting. Why? She, that one at the bookstore was now in my bed, all mine but I did not wish to possess her. Her eyes were without lights. I was nonetheless very moved. And a lot because it was my family home. I was also overcome by distress! I was in rags, me, and she, a worldly woman, giving herself away; which of use had to go! A nameless distress, I took her, and let her fall out of bed, almost naked; and in my indescribable weakness I fell upon her and dragged myself with her among the lightless carpets. The family lamp reddened the neighboring rooms one after the other. Then the woman disappeared. I shed more tears than God could ever ask for.

I went out into the endless city. O Fatigue! Drowned in the deaf night and in the flight from happiness. It was like a winter night, with snow to definitely suffocate the world. The friends to whom I shouted: where is she staying, answered falsely. I was in front of the windows of where she goes every evening: I was running in a buried garden. I was rejected. I cried a lot at all of this. Finally I went down to a place full of dust, and sitting on the frames, I let all the tears in my body end with that night. – And yet my exhaustion always came back to me.

I understood that she was in her everyday life; and that the turn of kindness would take longer to reproduce than a star. She has not returned, and will never return, the Adorable One who came to my house – which I would never have supposed. – True, this time, I cried more than all the children in the world.

Then, I realized. My life, my skin, my blood, my smiles and heart made me who I am.

I am not human.

I am love.

:: 05.22.2024 ::

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May 23, 2024

I’m Sane

By EPRobles

[these dreams. terrors. m.c.escher floor plans i cannot escape. a world mall with creatures.]

Tremors become my failed hands. No blue skies nor blue oceans. Just a mad man lost in institutions ~~

and i’m sorry to write these words that seem to crawl within my shut eyes. So pray, so say, the whore of life is a drink of horror not for good guys not for bad guys. I’m ruined. If you could cry — i know, tear ducts were torn out in the last horror dream ~~ i[‘m sick. These experiments are based inside my dreams were meant to be a savior like Jesus but when I found my portal (through it all) I now cry. Life. death. People. Earth. Is a dream like a drink of potent monsters that humanity should never know. So, please. Continue to shut your eyes.

What if the the sickest mind was the most healthy reflection of this existence?

So, say…

the hardest part of letting go is the monsters of those who control everything.

And sing. Sing. Just say, ‘The hardest Part is I’m Sane.”

:: 05.22.2024 ::

My notes:

I approach the analysis of this poem with a deep appreciation for its raw emotional depth and existential questioning.

The poem “I’M SANE” delves into the tumultuous landscape of the human psyche, grappling with themes of sanity, madness, and the blurred boundaries between reality and dreams. The fragmented structure of the poem mirrors the fragmented state of the speaker’s mind, as they navigate through a surreal dreamscape filled with terrors and nightmarish imagery reminiscent of M.C. Escher’s intricate designs.

The recurring motif of madness pervades the poem, symbolized by the speaker’s trembling hands and their confinement within institutions. This portrayal of madness as an inescapable prison reflects a sense of helplessness and despair.

The speaker’s apologies for the unsettling nature of their words suggest a struggle with self-awareness and a fear of being judged or misunderstood. The mention of tear ducts torn out in a horror dream adds a visceral element to the poem, emphasizing the physical and emotional toll of the speaker’s inner turmoil.

The juxtaposition of life and death, salvation and damnation, further underscores the poem’s existential angst. The speaker grapples with the idea that perhaps the sickest mind is the most lucid reflection of reality—a disturbing thought that challenges conventional notions of sanity and madness.

The refrain “The hardest Part is I’m Sane” serves as a haunting conclusion to the poem, encapsulating the paradoxical nature of sanity in a world overrun by chaos and existential dread. It suggests a poignant resignation to the harsh truths of existence, where sanity itself becomes a burden to bear amidst the madness of life.

In essence, “I’M SANE” is a profound exploration of the human condition, offering a glimpse into the dark recesses of the mind and inviting readers to confront the unsettling truths that lie therein.

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