My words are children—born complete—
Or wanting—limbs—or Hearts—
Unyielding—though the form may lack—
Their Life—by Art—imparted—
A Soul’s embrace—a Painter’s hand—
Or Poem’s—whispered Breath—
Each speaks—unto the Giver—
Dances in the Shadow’s path—
They Echo—through the empty Hall—
In every silent Room—
Each syllable—a living pulse—
A Language to the Tomb—
:: Rev – 08.21.2024 ::
WHEN you have killed the living thing inside
your Skull spend nights within my Mouth
Speak tales of ancient knowledge
upon a spinning fallen leaf drifting
down youth’s river
And press my tongue against your broken
heart, lift my legs across your shoulders
as a wet nurse, tell me this is but a dream
while our spit dries upon skin.
:: 08.16.2024 ::
In the pale moon’s whisper, I met a maiden fair,
Her name, a secret—call her Jenny, if you dare.
She was of passion’s fever, a tempest wild and free,
And in the hush of midnight, she beckoned unto me.
In a quiet chamber, by the candle’s gentle gleam,
She held a book of pages, where dreams dance and scheme.
“Would you, Ma’am, waste a moment, in the shadowed, velvet night?”
Her gaze, a flame of longing, did set my soul alight.
She led me to her castle, where all was soft and dim,
The air was thick with silence, as we danced on the whim.
She whispered, “Sign here, dearest, where the ink meets the soul,”
And then, the world did shudder, as she claimed her tender toll.
Oh, Jenny, sweet Jenny, your kiss a burning brand,
In the spinning world of rapture, I was lost to your command.
What she did, I cannot utter, for words would surely fail,
But my heart, forever altered, now sings a different tale.
When dawn’s tender fingers brushed the sky with rosy hue,
I woke to find her vanished, the night wind cold and true.
But on the stair, a promise, writ in haste and fire’s ink,
“Call me when the night is dark, and you’re yearning on the brink.”
Oh, Jenny, dearest Jenny, return to me once more,
For the dance we started in the night is now a craving sore.
But the Lord, He watches over, and soon His light will shine,
Yet in this fleeting moment, I would have you, still, be mine.
:: 08.16.2024 ::
Sometimes I feel
I am born rich,
Yet often, I am born poor.
But still, I weep—
For I am rich,
For I possess words.
I tell all
What the heart knows:
The world is lovely,
And in brief verses,
I capture its warmth,
Like the sun, like dear lovers.
And even in loss,
We know love endures,
And we endure.
Oh, how wondrous life is!
I lay down love in words,
But better still, in paint,
On canvas stretched wide.
For I express love in colors
That no words could ever hold,
While you’re here in this world.
:: 08.14.2024 ::
How you walk alone in rain clouds
smothering skies
Dressed blue fringes brown mud bare feet
and brilliant eye tears not from nature
but from Love broken i was taught as child
love is a small thing with big eyes
So lost in your big eyes bleeding cancer in mind
oh say:
In the quiet storm of your solitude, the rain clouds hang heavy
like unspoken dreams, draping the world in a veil of melancholic haze.
You tread the earth, bare feet sinking into the wet embrace of mud,
as if the world itself mourns with you, absorbing your every step,
every tear that falls from eyes too brilliant for this dim reality.
The fringes of your being, once adorned in the delicate blue of innocence,
now flutter like forgotten memories in the wind, frayed by the passage of time
and the weight of unfulfilled promises. The tears you shed, they do not belong to
nature—they are the essence of a heart broken by the purest force known to man:
Love.
A force that, as a child, was taught to you as something small, yet with eyes so vast they could swallow the universe.
And now, in the cavernous depths of your mind, those eyes have become a cancer,
an all-consuming void that devours every thought, every emotion, until nothing remains
but the echo of your own despair. You walk alone, not just in the world, but in the very fabric of existence,
lost in the labyrinth of your own making, where love is both the light that guides and the shadow that blinds.
As you drift through the mist of your memories, the world around you warps and bends, reshaping itself into a landscape that mirrors the turmoil within. Trees twist into grotesque forms, their branches reaching out like the skeletal fingers of forgotten hopes, while the ground beneath you pulses with the heartbeat of the earth, alive with the sorrow that has seeped into its core. Each step you take is a dance with the past, a delicate waltz with the ghosts of what once was, their whispers curling around you like smoke, filling your lungs with the bitter taste of regret.
The sky, once a canvas of endless possibilities, now hangs heavy with the weight of lost dreams, its colors bleeding into one another like tears on a page. The rain that falls is no longer water, but a torrent of shattered illusions, each drop a fragment of a future that will never come to pass. You raise your eyes to the heavens, searching for solace, but find only the reflection of your own despair staring back at you, mocking the hope you once held so dear.
In this surreal world of your creation, you are both the artist and the masterpiece, the creator of your own torment, painting with the hues of heartbreak and the brushstrokes of loneliness, lost in a world where love has become a distant memory, a faint echo in the chambers of a forgotten heart.
Orchids of smiles dying in your highness sigh.
:: 08.14.2024 ::
A whisper soft—across the vale,
Where Rona Mae Ronda treads—
Her footfall light, a breeze’s tale,
Through meadows gold—she spreads.
No need of day—her presence brings,
A twilight soft and kind
With every step—a thousand springs,
Awake in heart and mind.
The daisy turns—her face to see,
As Rona Mae Ronda glides—
Through clover fields—so carelessly,
Where innocence—abides.
The robin pauses in its flight,
To hear her laughter’s sound
For Rona Mae—by day or night,
Turns all to sacred ground.
She leaves no trace—yet all can tell,
Wherever she has been
The very air begins to swell,
With what the soul has seen.
:: 08.12.2024 ::
A HUNDRED POEMS – XXXIV
Oh, Devastation, such a ravishing sight,
Your beauty leaves me breathless, day and night.
With fluttering lashes, a hypnotic trance,
You pull me deeper into a romantic dance.
Your eyes, like jewels, they shine so bright,
Reflecting my love with pure delight.
Time halts when you’re near, my world fades away,
All I see is you, in every single way.
Oh, love, sweet love, how it blossoms within,
A love so perfect, it feels like sin.
Devastating love, it’s what I desire,
A love that sets my heart and soul on fire.
So love me, darling, with all that you are,
And we’ll journey together, near or far.
:: 08.12.2024 ::
I could never paint just morning
(mourning is never easier)
without dipping my brush
in Earth’s greens and blues—
and just you, as the clouds
and winter chills upon spring’s
virgin lands. Flaming flowers,
melting hues dripping from all
our lives and her canvas.
When we were bathed in
the light of life, we easily forgot
that such lives are not meant
for dreamers and lovers like you.
:: 08.11.2024 ::
whirling—how
darksome light
whispers(beyond
grasp)but
still more than
twinkling
a sudden flurry of
nights(licking
flames of stars
with
tongues
bitter). a tremble-quick
twilight
hands (a)cross
(a)cross the
howling—
fulgent.
more than
yesterday’s forgotten
dream(a
chase(ing)—glow(ing)
now.
—tumble, tumble,
sing! for
more than nothing, less
than everything—the heart
p o u n d s echo(ing)
soft- hard
grace- rage
it is(was)(is)
only(echo)time
(quivering
pulse-twitch)
reverie.
abrupt.
:: 08.08.2024 ::
My sweet flower born from a precious sun
My sweet woman
I declare to all tallest mountains
the beauty of love
That all mankind feels when falling in love
you are the one my dear — the seed of passion
Oh, tonight the winds are singing across seas
ships who have sailed afar carry within sails
your words of whsipering adorn within sailor’s
hearts and tears of joy
In the deep folds of the earth
where shadows weave,
Your presence blooms like a hidden sun,
Illuminating the silence of the night,
A beacon where my heart, lost, is found.
In dreams, I drift among your celestial whispers,
Where every murmur becomes a symphony,
In your gaze, the cosmos stirs,
Two souls entwined, a dance of the eternal.
Under the moon’s caress, our hearts merge,
As rivers murmur tales of our unity,
Your voice, a hymn of ancient stars,
Flows through the fabric of time, tender and unyielding.
Let each sunrise and sunset echo our passion,
A love that traverses the bounds of days,
Where every tempest and calm we conquer,
Bound by a love that defies even the universe’s rhyme
:: 08.07.2024 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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