EVERY night of every day i take my love to bed
yea; Leave my heart upon the
dinner plate for the cold
, oh ;
at night its must worse
oh how these lonely tears
fall away screaming
all within silence
So I ask God, “what do i do?”
and listen to the song of
a bird dying each note
all within the long-time
backyard inside my head___
so i’m coming Home now: no need to leave
my heart upon the alter of pain & sorrow.
:: 07.19.2020 ::
TOO! i am too tired for Love___i drained
my member silently this day: of no love,
fanfare nor beauty i did this to die again/
the sun was rolling upon my house’s roof
and all the neighborhood dogs howled
in joy at the large yellow bouncing ball
of fire and death\and me –alone.
:: 07.17.2020 ::
DEFINITELY a few minutes ago
: walked within your footsteps/
walking — oh, walking in your
footsteps\ hey mister, i would
not ask for more (i would not walk
within those foot steps) but could you
sing to me about how mighty brontosaurus
died even built three stories high: he
would never hurt a fly…
Execelsus
walking within those same footprints
are my own foot-steps…
:: 07.16.2020 ::
THIS POET WROTE:
while leaves march down an empty alleysuddenly she is barely holding upon the blue skies /of punch red-blue\of a galant southern magnolia sweetand fresh of a sudden burning smellfruit for the fallen souls are we forever together.
far so for father trick of mind/here is a Strange Tale\upon his tomb stone. this POET WROTE
:: 07.13.2020 ::
\ Upon one hand is a large finger —
then the other a butterfly
oh hear the fallen rain! the gutters
of my lonely heart — it sings;
a melody before here unheard of!
The Smallest is a Thing of no name
barely, an echo of memories
–and just the same! Such a strain
upon this stain that still remains,
within my soon fragmented brain –,
the smallest thing; as butterflies
having taken flight from dark memories.
AND i remain always the same.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
HAVE you never
ever walk
-ed the edge of
fields so yellow
they smell of Gold?
–the wheat fields
of Vincent Van Gogh
he was a bastard
to most but greatly
to ‘self’ –>kill
the personality
but never the Art
nor the Soul
:: 04.29.2020 ::
little figurei beg of you
find our way home
it is no tHing to concern yourself
: and all your Youth & beauty
: little fingers play\
the score of forgetting
/ and now. YOu face eternal
time: come here. Now. &
forgive yourself.
:: 04.22.2020 ::
EYES as large as acres that see,
some hidden things.
ORBICULAR VISUS
are secrets deeply hidden under
divided worlds.
Our smallest of small;
a globe of fragile glass,
Within the smallest of
our hands,
But by it’s Soul and by it’s
Spirit of a heart of Crystal
pass,
Tininess voices through twilight
land be heard,
the most sincerest liar —
the mind suited for war
is our sight
by this night
of all nights
heard.
:: 01-28-2019 ::
THAT today in my heart
the breath of life
but my way is mingled
within confusion
Pain obscures light.
Remembrance of Love
moistens my feelings
within the Soul’s
fountain.
Each cloud flies high
and stars trembling,
A Spirit too if so be
it.
Love can never die.
And lessons from Mountains
and Rivers and Forests
They wear the Rainbow,
a solid unbroken promise
So too my Life
So too my Love
So too my Soul.
:: 11-02-2018 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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