ALONE with my silence
what does life mean
if forgiveness
never exists
thinking, i
thought a kiss
like sun upon lips
but who lives forever
nothing made of skin
nor flesh; none of us
and when there’s no
place for us then what
is this thing that
builds up dreams then
walks away from us
i see love, lies, fear,
tender pain; i gave
the world all my art,
touched your soul upon
my fingertips
then|when love
must die +
:: 07-03-2015 ::
I like the smell of art and the walls of museums
taste like the last kiss that broke my heart
discarded hearts inside
the highness of pain
We walk across the color
of the ancient blood
dripping dried souls
so many canvas’ of…ha ha…
and your flesh mixed the thought-wolf hungry
libido of my own art it’s forever until
I have another chance and it hurts, too much
pressure so, like now depressed compressed
breasts and hips and butterfly cups overfilled
by the sun-horror of life
Art. Madness. Words.
Expressive untaxed product
until it’s sold to the world
NEVER! NEVER! OH, NEVER!
FOREVER!!!
:: 06-18-2015 ::
You’re so finely woven
a stretch of time upon
my eye and I dream of
colors to shoot across
your clean white face.
My painting! My canvas!
My own heart chambers
so shy! You have sat there
for three months and haven’t
had a period since then.
Upon my easel you wait,
hmm, wondering if you want it.
I forgave the paint-brush penis,
who penetrated your hymen.
You bled for days and I was left
with the mess of a baby
who still cries for the breast!
So the milk shall flow across
the gutters of a dirty street
and your artistry will refine
the masses of this garbage-
filled world of empty heads.
:: 04-06-2015 ::
the deep thing
we wish to do!
to draw or paint
or write or love
a few to do,
an impossible all!
an any or all
is a life of art!
it is by nature
— that moves
us all!
:: 02-27-2015 ::
little be my Soul
what thoughts
do bring joy
a misfit my heart
that tripping
-forgiving debt
of my strange life!
To swear i saw
the cosmos
within your eyes
this i keep
to myself!
the little-Be Soul
of my tragic heart
and Poets Know;
Life is but an Art!
:: 02-10-2015 ::
WHAT thief!
Coy and soothing
belongs something like
confessions through tears
Words. Paint! The thief
of my own life that takes
away the embering lit heart
unto heaven; and leaves
me exhausted life a lover
who gave me evrything,
and more than love!
Poetry. Art.
My lover!
11-03-2014 ::
It’s been 14 dreary days since you
took my heart away (thundercloud
dripping sadness, clapping applause)
I saw my face in a shattered mirror
the broken glass Picasso’d me
so I ate a purple-painted brush
threw up on my canvas of life
You — like me, I like you, you not so
simply adviced by Cupid’s broken arrow
So I walk the garden and snappy leaf
of my favorite Venus lie-traps
licked my wounds and bumble B
stinging my dripping painted heart
I couldn’t have met my fate with you
without my garden of shyness and love
so I gave you a clapping hand upon
these past fourteen heavenly days
Forever, forever, forever!
Even though I forgot the contour
of your Mona Lisa lying face
and somebody else already used
the word of a chained heart in hell
but I wish I had more time
opportunity to explain my disgust
:: 11-21-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 