SOMETIMES honesty is heard as:
“blah blah blah blah wee blah!”
we are familiar with that
fake voice
— we People have been a part
of a process that has existed
for a great while now; it is
the psychological conditioning
to not even know the Truth when
it stares you straight in the Face.
:: 05.19.2020 ::
BUSTED purple-daze
all within my head
confection floating;
filming an ocean-whale
of truth___you got my
love within you & how
we could never kiss
goodbye
burning golden
piano-dark GOT your
\music/ within me
…let us never say
‘goodbye’ but maybe
apocalypse cause Heaven
demands a price upon
loving hearts oh darling
come on and love me you
already haunt me
:: 05.15.2020 ::
WHILE the Cherubim sing their deeply forlangen hymns
…Oh, how beautiful! Oh, how sensually sweet!
That i am racked brokenly as suffocating despair
fills my Thoughts! My Mind! Not for this first
time am i drunk with expectation: as a child i
drank the Living Light. A price unseen until a
price paid!
Let us break disharmony and seal a pact with All!
To re-create a promise.
:: 05.10.2020 ::
WHAT does it mean when the Sun strikes a thought
within One’s Soul? This i ponder while i walk
the path called Life. What of the thousands of
screams, untold broken dreams and weeping expecting
mothers? Do you remember them? Your mother, sister,
brother or father perhaps forgot to say, “I love you”
or the county clown made you shed tears when you were
eight.
Today I am walking down a path as the Sun strikes into
my Soul; spits them out as words___.
:: 05.10.2020 ::
IF the trees and green pasteurs
find you;
if as when we sat upon a spot
splashed by sunshine then; who
could taste the touch
of Love than most nevered
heard nor seen?
Then come toward me and reach out
we will talk about small things
relieving the Heart of it’s
burdens.
Nature Agrees.
:: 05.07.2020 ::
BRUISED LIGHT i am so sad that i never
gave but a few morsels to my art
just an afterthought
but these few bits fed me a light
that kept me alive .I am so sad to say
this. it hurts something more than
me. like my soul.
i bruise my light.
i choke deeply inside that i am so cheaply
sold on an idea. I am so low that I
could never even
walk in the shadows of others who gave
to art.
:: 04-10-2015 ::
A HUNDRED POEMS – XLVII (Rev: 07-20-2016)A HUNDRED POEMS – XLVII (Rev: 07-20-2016)
THE Smallest is a thing no name barely, just
echo memory. Just the same
Such a stain that still remains,
within my brain, the smallest thing;
fragmented memories.
of every THING i created with my
own Love__ i am a damned heart.
\
\
:: ~~~~~ ::
A HUNDRED POEMS – XLVII (Rev: 07-20-2016)
THE Smallest is a thing
no name barely, just
echo memory.
Just the same
Such a stain
that still remains,
within my brain,
the smallest thing;
fragmented memories.
of every THING i
created with my
own Love__ i am a
damned heart.
\
:: ~~~~~ ::
IT is ‘they” as we sold the sun and moon
and stars away — __ children laugh and forget
up or down autumn spring summer or NOW
if as though “anyone” or “anyhow” have lost
their heart crying sleep wake and hope.
Oh, they try to explain as ice & snow
they try to forget their pain
& now one can ever stoop to kiss their Souls
\as little as little/ as was is was and nothing
more they dream their sleep.
& no anyone more.
:: 05.07.2020 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
 | Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
| EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
You must be logged in to post a comment.