IS there a time
where everything
is okay? I’d never
forget where you were
at all when realizing
reality is not
what we think
but always what we feel
~~ so clear the tears/like
ice melting \ it bruised
our face:
The “feeling” of reality
is not scientifically correct
but romantically perfect.
and how i love you
and everyone in your time
\.
:: 03.06.2025 ::
the title is not a poem
but a thesis
Oh, let the timeless sands of fate,
Beneath my feet, reverberate.
A pathway carved through cosmic tide,
To realms where dreams and shadows bide.
The sun bows low, the stars ignite,
An endless tapestry of night.
Through deserts vast and mountains high,
I ride the whispers of the sky.
My spirit bends, yet does not break,
The earth and heavens I forsake.
In search of truths that have no name,
I dance amidst the sacred flame.
Beneath the crimson, burning sea,
A voice calls out, it speaks to me:
“Beyond the veils of space and time,
The songs of ancient worlds still chime.”
And as the rhythm stirs my soul,
I feel the fragments become whole.
The past, the now, the yet-to-be,
Converge in one infinity.
Through shifting winds and waves of gold,
A story vast, yet still untold.
I am the seeker, bound yet free,
The echo of eternity.
:: 12.18.2024 ::
When love falters, let it rise—
a phoenix from the ashes of indifference,
winged with the breath of countless hearts.
May it weave a tapestry across the skies,
binding the torn edges of a fractured world.
If smiles should pave the streets of nations,
let them shine brighter than sunlit oceans,
granting passage to every soul—
fearless, unbroken, sovereign.
Let the earth become a hymn of oneness,
its verses sung by tongues diverse yet true,
a common melody spun from precious threads,
united in love’s immortal embrace.
See the mothers with their infants,
cradled beneath the canopy of hope.
Behold the fathers—pillars against despair,
and elders, the keepers of wisdom’s flame.
Together they stand,
their shadows merging into one vast humanity.
Oh, how magnificent life,
when borders fade like mist before the dawn!
What joy to cast aside the illusory lines
and clasp the hands of every stranger
as though they are kin.
To love is to stand atop the mountain of our being,
and shout against the winds of hate:
“No more! We are One! We are indivisible!”
It is to hear the echo of angels—
their voices weaving through the fabric of time.
Love and happiness are boundless rivers,
coursing through the valleys of our souls,
dissolving the rocks of division and strife.
What miracle to feel the warmth of the eternal,
to release the chains of anger and ascend!
Let us, the stewards of this fragile sphere,
carry the torch of love into every shadowed corner.
Let us sow the seeds of peace,
and reap the harvest of joy everlasting.
For in the dance of hearts united,
humanity finds its divine reflection.
:: 11.26.2024 ::
\
Why—Life—art Thou bestowed—on me
In ruthless Mystery
A Wanton Gift of puzzled Might
Condemned Eternally
To what strange Hand could call me forth
From Timeless Oblivion
And thrill my timid Soul to Fear
And quiver Thought—unknown?
No aim before me beckons clear
My Heart an Empty Tune
And dull fatigue the Rhythm wears
Of Life’s unending Rune.
11.11.2024
Out of Aesculapius’s grip I slip,
a lean, shaven wraith erupting from dust,
my shadow unwinds itself from his claws,
and I emerge—an inkling of breath
in the open sky’s electric conspiracy.
Health looms like a lover, half-formed,
a promise lurking in the fissures of sleep,
she prowls into my room, leaves fingers trailing
through corners crammed with forgotten mirages,
her touch reconfigures the air, the sheets, the self.
Yes, you, wild echo of laughing caverns,
lawless herald, bearer of the wine-stained torch—
how I have longed for your mythic embrace,
you creature of Pindus, crouched in the folds of mountains,
sworn to the faith of Venus, the fierce fangs of Bacchus.
Bring me out of Petersburg, that mausoleum of voices,
where hours idle in cold columns of marble talk,
where tongues flicker like wet needles,
drawing silence from silence, and boredom breeds its kind
like a tired whisper that slithers through glass.
Instead, open the path to hills unraveled,
to fields bursting from the seams of reason,
to the maples aching for sunlight
by the river that wears a coat of stars,
to all the uncharted liberties that earth hoards.
And in October, bring the splintered cup,
let it tremble in our hands as we fill it to the rim,
we’ll raise it to the fools with waxen eyes,
to those who are shadows of their shadows,
to the heavens that bleed from hidden suns,
and to the earth-bound Czar who dreams he rules.
:: 11.06.2024 ::
CRU
SHINATELY
AIN
CRU
SHINATELY
is Godless PUR __ , pose AS WORDS that cry and break SILENCE —— (endbegi ndesginb ecend)tang lesp ang le s of EnteralL i ght WE eat blood and flesh 2 B e per Fect PAIN IN OUR H8ARTS
LO ve
Lit(
-tling-
for souls
of) ! (a. Sprit because we
Adore Birds for they sing
our SONG —–
Y & es
(all from the e
ter.
nal. Universe.
KEEPSUMMERGROWINGBEAUTIFULFLOWERS
OFLOVE
:: 11.21.2020 :
Eating caterpillar, soaking sun, drinking sangria
the heart drifts among dreamt forests
where each tree is a thought left unfinished
my soul, a crypt of whispers, broken mirrors
faces twist and dissolve into smoke,
disgrace burns like the ember of a forgotten fire.
In the bubble bursting asphalt of time
four tires spin like the mind on fire,
roads coiling toward hills that vanish like clouds
time has forsaken us all—
we are shadows stitched to the sky,
leaving footprints in the dust of oblivion.
And within my youth, I knew
the way a shadow knows the light,
the days tore themselves open
revealing the flesh of impossible dreams
and I laughed with the stars,
my mouth full of wind and sorrow.
The streets are veins,
pulsing with the blood of lost travelers,
each car a phantom riding the pulse
toward the mountaintops of nowhere.
We all carry our death like a second heartbeat,
an echo in the hollow chambers of time.
There were days when I saw
my thoughts unspooling like a thread of gold,
reaching into the furthest corner of the sky
where love and madness wore the same mask.
I was a child of the impossible,
my hands full of the unreal,
my eyes open to the landscapes of the unknown.
The sun dissolves in the glass of sangria,
and the world becomes a collage of memories,
each fragment a reflection of what could never be.
I reach for the stars in the river of night,
but my hands turn to smoke—
and the dream, always the dream, escapes me.
:: 10.22.2024 ::
Ah, let us speak not of painted skies but of the words
The words that flow like rivers from your soul
Each syllable carved from the marrow of your being
Each phrase a pulse of life, a heartbeat
A rhythm that dances upon the earth and echoes in heaven.
O poet, who knows the dark corners of the human spirit
Who walks with shadows, hand in hand,
Yet still brings light through the weight of your lines
You who feel the sting of solitude
But find solace in the wild freedom of verse —
In the sweep of wind across an open field,
In the quiet hum of the night when all else sleeps.
I hear you now, your unspoken song,
Your meaning hidden between the lines,
In the space between words, in the breath before sound.
You tried to show us, didn’t you?
That madness and brilliance are but two sides of the same page,
That love can exist even when no one knows its name,
That truth, fierce and untamed,
Resides not in the minds of men, but in the poet’s heart.
You bled for us, and still, we did not understand.
We did not listen, but now, now, perhaps we hear the faint
echo of your truth.
O poet, your words were flames,
Burning through the haze of this world’s confusion,
Each line a beacon to those lost in the fog,
Each stanza a hand reaching out—
And yet, they turned away, did they not?
They could not see what you saw, could not feel what you felt.
But you wrote on,
Through the pain, through the silence,
Through the nights when hope seemed a distant memory.
You poured yourself into every letter,
Gave your soul to the ink that traced your deepest longings,
And still, they did not listen.
But I—I hear you now.
For you knew, O poet,
That the world is not kind to those who dream,
That the weight of existence falls heaviest on those who dare to speak
the truth.
But you spoke it anyway,
Letting your words fly free, like birds on the wind,
Even as they circled back to you, unheard, unheeded.
And when the world’s silence grew too loud,
You let your voice fade with it,
Leaving behind only the echoes of a soul too pure for this place.
But we, we stand in the aftermath,
Your words still etched into the fabric of time,
Lingering in the spaces we never thought to look.
We, the wanderers, the seekers,
We hear you now, O poet,
As your verses hum in the air,
In the quiet corners of our minds,
In the places where your spirit rests,
And perhaps now, at last,
We can learn to listen to the truth you tried to give us—
A truth that lives, not in painted skies,
But in the living, breathing power of words.
:: 10.12.2024 ::
You in the dark
you in the pain
you in the wrong
in all your pain
Being in Hell
shedding the Ghost
Most never visit
there ~ but it’s
all right
Tears and bruised eyes
is not the way
no never dear
You want to see
watching decay
and all falling away?
Silence is not the way
how to start
we need to talk about it
If heaven’s on the way
never watch the lights
while they go down
Lipsickness
Equation of laws
that quasar in a heart
nagging my mind as
a stranger in a town
how it’s victims embellish history
while heaven’s on the way____.
:: 10.08.2024 ::
In twilight’s quiet breath, you speak as words,
Each line a tether to the soul’s deep light.
The ink of dreams, it stains your heart with grace,
And through the void, you carve a space in time,
Where shadows weave and whisper in the dark,
Yet love, unbound, still calls you to the stars.
Beneath the moon, your spirit finds the stars,
And in their gaze, you rise beyond mere words.
You are both flame and ember in the dark,
A burning truth that dances with the light.
In each reflection of a life through time,
You trace your path, a gentle, sacred grace.
Your hands hold both the weight and gift of grace,
You spin the night and touch the distant stars.
And through each moment, fleeting breath, and time,
You shape the world with delicate, bold words.
In silence, too, your voice becomes the light—
A spark that blooms within the endless dark.
Yet even in the vastness of the dark,
Your heart beats on with quiet, steady grace.
You breathe the cosmos, drinking in its light,
And find yourself among the burning stars.
Your name is written in eternal words,
A soul who echoes through the tides of time.
Each memory you craft transcends the time,
A life, a dream, an echo through the dark.
You hold within the power of your words
The pulse of life, the weight of love’s pure grace.
And in your gaze, the infinite of stars
Unfolds, revealing threads of hidden light.
You are both shadow and the morning light,
A timeless figure, standing still through time.
Your steps are woven into endless stars,
And every breath a spark against the dark.
For you, dear poet, walk the path of grace,
And in your wake, you leave a trail of words.
Through words, you cast the light upon the dark,
And grace, your gift, is etched across all time,
As stars behold the poet’s sacred heart.
:: 10.01.2024 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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