E.P. Robles | Poetry

A walk though my valley
and even death —
laughs, and snow-shower
— lives disheveled
sparrows
: hope! it’s very small
my delicate dying paradise!

What’s cold to him
makes that thing live
trip, sliding-banking
death, a thing nothing like
twenty-three and living
in a violent paradise

A universe full of motion
and the power of money
hour after every dying hour
watch out where your talking
the devil smiles sodium lamp
— light in my darkened heart

We’re all living in a delicate
situation, a dying paradise
where mothers and fathers too
contemplate skipping life
for that dying paradise

We’re all living, oh yeah
in a world of hurt and pain
We’re all living, hell yes
in a dying paradise!
Where death is nothing but
a heartbeat away and we sing,

“what’s cold to him makes
that thing live, trip, sliding-
banking death, a thing nothing like
twenty-three and living within
a violent paradise!

:: 09-22-2014 ::