Awake! My eyes—
opened to you, casting off sleep,
to find heaven nestled beside me.
Oh, what grace, what gentle skin!
An angel’s presence in soft repose.
I never dreamed to witness
what my mind dared not conceive,
yet here you are—so real,
with lips still kissed by slumber’s breath.
I am smaller now, a speck,
before the vastness of your beauty.
Surely, I fell through a rift in heaven’s sky
to land here,
where you sleep, where you snore,
so perfectly angelic.
:: 09.17.2024 ::
If I love, what am I, but shadow and flame,
A mirror that flickers, that calls my name?
Does love remake me, or unveil what’s been,
The light that’s hidden, or the darkness within?
In the soil, I kneel, where thorns entwine,
The earth beneath me, both cruel and divine.
I crawl through the dirt, stained by the fight,
Yet still I rise toward love’s steady light.
What is real, must I remember it all—
The good, the evil, the rise, and the fall?
To uncover truth is to bear its weight,
The joy and the sorrow that time won’t abate.
The hands that I’ve helped, the wounds I have known,
The shadows of others have marked my own.
For every soul that gave, and each that took,
I am both victim and thief in this book.
Pulling at thorns, the pain won’t release,
Love persists, though suffering won’t cease.
Perhaps I am someone else—someone changed,
Yet you, like the sky, remain unrestrained.
In the light and shadows of those I recall,
I gave them everything, but lost it all.
And still, I seek redemption, not in the past,
But in the love that endures, that might last.
So, I’ll love all, in spite of the pain,
For in love’s embrace, I’ll find myself again.
Through the struggle, the shadows, the wounds, the fall,
I’ll rise, like the dawn, and love will remain through all.
:: 09.17.2024 ::
The heartbeat’s too faint—
I tried to skip
down the boardwalk path,
the corner of my carnival eye glossed,
where pinks and reds
bled into blue,
and a thin blade of sadness
sliced through the ocean waves
I saw you drowning
in your carnival suit of cheap life.
Did you hear me call?
I shouted, “One more smile for life!”
But the pudding seas swallowed you whole
Now I walk the high-wire,
this tightrope called falling life,
teetering between the sky
and the abyss below
I felt the wind breathe
its quiet warning,
as the rope trembled beneath my feet,
each step a gamble
against the pull of gravity—
yet the crowd cheers for the fall
The sky grows dim;
night becomes my silent audience.
With each sway, I wonder—
is it courage that keeps me walking,
or the fear of what waits
below the safety net?
:: 09.14.2024 ::
I born.
mouth full of dirt,
crowned with worms,
called ugly
by a sky that bleeds clocks.
I begged the wind for mercy,
for the crime of breathing,
and love—love hid itself
beneath the rotting leaves.
KEEP YOUR DREAMS HIDDEN
(never
spill them)
like marbles
into the hands of ghosts—
their fingers rot,
their eyes burn holes
through time itself.
and the ears,
dry as desert bones,
curl inward
like paper shriveling in fire.
the tongues twist into serpents
and vomit
not words, but sand—
millions of grains
in an hourglass that spins,
spiraling faster, faster,
dissolving the moon’s reflection.
time is not a thief.
it is a snake devouring itself,
until the night becomes a shadow’s shadow,
bleeding stars.
aborted dreams
are all that’s left,
tangled in the sky’s black veins.
WHEN delirious dreams, full of fever, etch across my forehead
communication with ghosts and effervescent spirits
become the mainstream news within the veins of life
Now my senses are dull ~ delirium is the frosting a top dessert
and my skull is delicate, and enticing for fingers.
While dreaming (is what this brain does) i see a workshop
with a child in a baby seat bathing blue air in a mass of flowers
and its hair is flowing overdrive where dew falls
but in my mind (here we go) a taste a pungent honey
and my lips dissolve with hissing interruptions, saliva
wishing it had one more kiss from Emily Dickinson
i hear lashes softly strike
Within the scented air—
And fingers, fine as lightning’s flash,
Do secrets swift declare—
In languid ease, i half forget
The world in murmurs small—
While ‘neath their regal nails there snaps
The hum of creatures small.
here’s to the wine (of sloth rising
in him) the breath the sigh of a harmonica (tuned to delirium)
and a child (who knows)
each slow caress— surging dying
continuously like
some small longing
to weep (to weep and never know why)
:: 09.12.2024 ::
In the quiet depths of my soul’s cavern,
I find my heart, tender and true,
When I breathe, as soft as whispers on stone,
I mean to say, “I love you.”
You’ve woven me into the fabric of time,
And if ever your spirit falters, Know I cradled
your heart in a gentle embrace,
Just to keep your joy alive.
Now, with eyes wide open, you embrace life,
And see that love and sorrow dance as one,
For to truly be happy, we must face the shadows,
And find beauty in the dark.
And if ever you bleed with the weight of the world,
Watching life’s essence flow from your veins,
Know that in this moment of pure vulnerability,
Hope breathes alongside your pain.
In this love, nothing else exists,
For our minds, clouded by the depths of feeling,
Cannot see beyond the truth of us.
There’s no need to return to who we once were,
For love has transformed us, And in each other,
we find the selves we never knew.
:: 08.31.2024 ::
Inside my cave i find my heart
if i say a breath stalagmite
i mean i love you
and you closed me in history
and if you hurt yourself
know i kept you in a jar
just to keep you happy
and now you really love life
and clearly you see horror
to be happy horror meets you
including life
And if you cut yourself
and watch life flow
breathing hope
nothing else matters
minds can’t see clearly
There’s no reason to go back
because I was a different person
and now no one i know
:: 08.31.2024 ::
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 ::
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 ::
The poet is a man who feigns,
And feigns so deep, with artful guise,
That he, at length, with ease attains
To feign the pain he truly sighs.
Those who read what he did pen
Perceive, within his plaintive strain,
Not the pains he felt back then,
But a distant, unknown pain.
Thus, around its constant track,
There runs, to keep our minds in part,
The circling, ceaseless clockwork’s clack,
Which men have named the human heart.
:: 08.05.2024 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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