I dreamed a Lady yesterday
She wandered through my Sleep
Her Smile a Thief of Remedies
Her Absence mine to keep
She gathers what she fancies swift
Her Voice is soft and stern
She leaves a Petal on my cheek
And never shall return
The fair lady without regret moves
And strews my Heart apart
She is my Ruin and my Hymn
My Torment and my Art
Her Eyes a Mirror dark with Light
Her Kiss a sudden Flame
It scorched the Fabric of my Soul
Yet still I call her Name
The lady without remorse.
:: 09.06.2025 ::
a strung-out song
a pit-angel trap
green as money
without feeling
sang the fat
evil thought
ramming inside
the white cave
of my dilapidated
skull.
how can any artist
sell out for fame
is beyond me.
i know i must be
mentally unwell
but need for money
was never the cause
for my derangement.
I blame my dreams.
My dreams are
OUROBOROS.
a divine pain. Inside
my throat. Beneath
my head inside my
stomach.
:: 03.18.2022 ::
BORN within the C R-A-C-K
of road and gutter fighting Tears like
no other feed me; feed us; save the
fetus [if not for the madness
within the air (BRAIN!)
maiming us_____/\/\
/\___]it’s okay to SCREAM\
the horror of this DAY!
oh rain oh rain oh REIN!
the virus of covered9’s
upSIDE down (listen now)
are three by three – OH!
–>digging within the brain
–no rain!
:: 07.10.2020 ::/
/
/
her mouth is like the
fine bust of all sounds
\life given /now re-
ceived/wander through space
my profound love with a
hidden face.
(could not help it)
(c) ep robles 2013
THE poor beggar called loneliness
no worse have I see —
tattered clothes and holes for sock
and outstretched arms —
not for money
but for love
:: 02-13-2014 ::
WITH the cold greet of a night moon
something stirred within my soul
nothing human or even creature
a nameless feeling – I fell awake
And I walk amongst the few
who know the feeling of walking too
like a stroll within a river
each footstep thick and clever
I greet the moon and her cloak
a silver shower of comfort too
and my friends — the nocturnal
are ones who know my nameless face
we live the night and sometimes even
mostly a kill I’d share with them
but these nights even so much more
an ancient lullaby of tragic lore
Tonight I taste the silver light
dripping across the twilight land
and though I cannot your name remember
the lust and hunger for you is alive
I’m hungry for you…still hungry for you
very hungry for you…
::01/02/2014
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 