Lost my way writing words
on my way back to life
all alone with the One
so exhausted with none
I am so surprised
no suicide
I’m strapped in a chair
with a hanging light bulb sun
and the leather upon my wrists
so tight like honey bees
stinging all the dreams of
my life: I’m just a poet
of silver dreams weeping
and half alive with an empty
gun so I use a pencil to
stab life with all my
empty words
A silver tongue that no one
loves so I write words to
awaken me from my dream
of lonely fields
silver dreams weeping
half alive with an
empty gun
::-::
have you seen
the giant-small?
it lives in glass
and sleeps in dirt
one to show
the other to hurt
have you seen
the giant-small?
it lives in love
and sleeps in gold
one to hug
the other to hurt
::-::
When disjointed images
meet the word
written in lineage
as old as Earth
What matter does
the grey of mind
play upon the tongue?
It gives birth great prose!
::-::
I chanced upon an exquisite puzzle one day
It was tiny in size and easy to touch
I did not want to figure it out
but just to hold…
I turned it this way, that way
— any way it would move!
And at times interlocking pieces
would come and go
Eventually I closed my eyes
and relied on touch and faith
and found it much easier to navigate
Life is such, that way.
::-::
Today I faced
a wall in my way
but did not see
a barrier.
Instead I saw
steadfast resolve
::-::
SOME say death is by chance
a twist of fate,
merely happenstance
And others take the rein
seeking death by their
own hands
I say death is the magician
a slight of hand, misdirection
allowing humans to believe
the end is Fate or Self-Fulfilled
But angels see the Cold Pact
forged before time itself
Life is a ledger and always
paid when balance is due
::<>::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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