(c) E.P. Robles 2012
FEAR death you say trembling
what grasp the Pale Rider
has over the mortal coil you cling
that you tightly hold to chest
Such nonsense a folly human thing
living life one foot in the grave
Ignorning the beauty bestowed you
that fear devours life each breath
:: 02-10-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
Of all the senses most admired
they are not the five mostly known
that I see before it’s done
precog is sweet but full of scorn
And sweet conversation — other side
is kind but exhausts my living life
what mostly I adore — affecting change
a higher path worldwide to take
is clearly the best for all – intention
:: 02-10-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
The day my skies darkened
such lost a cavity in my soul
Immortal doings completely so
that living a drudgery act
When a spirit feels such truth
each tick-tock touches you
loss of love removes a piece
let my days be numbered do!
:: 02-10-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
My Polly, nations gather to greet
this beautiful creation from dust
Aberration of fantasy becomes
what life has brought forth to Earth
Thunderous applause for mere moments
to see the twinkle of God’s eye —
a pollination between flesh and spirit
What grand flowers grow within your fields
and highlights of sunburst painting hearts
showers from blue skies and kisses too
My Polly-be so-good for Earth and me
:: 02-10-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
Woman, I gave to thee
not more than what I am, —
a mere taste of eternity
the breath of imperial love
gently i laid before thee
The heart has no eye, yet —
some believe ocular
that what they see is more
but my love is a tiny thing
and great power so granular
:: 02-10-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
And with a shout-sharp word
the chandelier of your heart
shatters — a burst of broken dream
the auctioneer sells your soul
what was once a sphere of tender love
now just tears and broken thole
:: 02-10-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
V
i cannot forget but shall forgive
one the mind, the other the heart
and if forget my warmth should you
i gave to you from my heart
please forget I crossed your path
pain is true and love that more
:: 02-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
IV
such wind blows my love upon your dreams
that flower of fields once knew bright warmth
and now the grasp of pain so cold sweeps
upon frozen tears pain hurts the soul
i should say come away — away from sorrow
but the gate between fate and me is locked
should i find that eternal key — be your heart
:: 02-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
III
know that i was to pen a poem about your loving graceful self
whoever you are my future lover but feline pleasure command
demanding attention from surely something more than i
that meow transcended fangy pleasure plush quadruped heart
mystical thoughts transmitted electrical blue sparks
hurting that thinking machine but the source so sweet
no difference between my cat
and that future lover
plush love purring throughout the night
:: 02-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
II
thinking with my organic something is unappeal
how to enjoy the meal life gives bland stove-top petrify indoctrination gadget
infused miniaturization of ghastly do-little meat puppets chatting nonsense
when weather is fair.
regardless of my attire my organic something always dresses in emperors
clothing and secret eyes admire from afar the fine tailoring of that 3.5 pound
of mystery meat whose function I could care less about unless it’s under a
scalpel in bright lit operatic stage
i am the audience and the play and refusal to say my preordained lines is an
orgasmic neurotic sensation that mostly only a God can know — save me
Please…save me, okay?
and when that musty wind glass shatter beneath carpet-burned boney knee I am
very pleased as the pain is affirmation that my knee still alive but the rest
of the husk of a carbon-based brilliant animal is walking dead beneath sodium
vapor light abandoned roads leading nowhere but that spot you sleep and wake
and dream and shit and eat and copulate upon.
that spot…dirty isn’t it?
my refusal to admit or decree a sacred source
but flowers toil and the soil is moist
a perfect spot for this organic something
a depth of six feet south
:: 02-08-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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