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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
To be a man, my beloved, is to walk with grace upon this earth as though each step is upon sacred ground. It is to carry in your heart a deep, boundless love that knows no division, for every soul is your brother, every child, your kin, and every stranger, a part of yourself. Open your hands to give freely, for to be a man is to give without expectation, to serve without seeking reward, and to love even those who turn away from you.
You are called not merely to stand tall, but to bend low, to be humble in spirit, knowing that each blade of grass and each speck of dust belongs to the same Father who formed you. In every leaf, every stone, every sorrowed heart, you see the touch of the Eternal, for you were made to feel the whole world within you and to bear witness to its beauty and its burden.
Strength is not found in the force of arms but in the quiet resilience of a heart that forgives, a soul that remembers no slight. To be a man is to meet suffering without complaint, to bear wounds without bitterness, to carry the cross of compassion through the valleys of the earth. I ask you, my brothers, to love as I have loved, with no pride, no boundary, no end, and to know that in each act of love, you sing a song that joins with the rivers and the winds, a song that carries forth my own.
Stand open before all, in tenderness and truth. To be a man is to let your life be a testament to light, to be a quiet beacon that leads others not to yourself, but to the path of peace and love. And as you walk, remember that you are both the servant and the beloved, both dust and divine, always cradled within the embrace of a Love that never falters, a Voice that forever calls you home.
:: 11.04.2024 ::
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 ::
It’s a complicated world
ruled by pain and fear
Everything’s ‘will you swim
or will you fade’
the smallest things
hold us back
the madness outside
these walls
are nothing compared
to what’s within my halls
Brain traffic: s/o confused
grid-locked & neurotically fused
Drain my Soul
Brain traffic: over/used
fear-****-fed till your dead
then Life’s on hold
it’s all Inside your head
BRAIN DEAD.
:: 03.27.2020 ::
Though there may be moments of sadness
when i must look deep within myself
let the warmth of love
let the warmth of sun
come through
At times i cannot fathom life
its cruel moments
its terrible feelings
let the warmth of love
let the warmth of sun
come through to me
When shadows fall and doubts arise,
and silence echoes through the night,
let the warmth of love,
let the warmth of sun
gently hold me tight.
In quiet hours when fear appears,
and every breath feels like a weight,
let the warmth of love,
let the warmth of sun
mend what fate may break.
For even in the darkest hours,
when I am lost, too tired to fight,
let the warmth of love,
let the warmth of sun
guide me back to light.
:: 10.24.2024 ::
I sing the body electric—
rising from streets where youth howls,
where untamed hearts beat wildly, thumping, thumping,
with the ferocity of the untapped future,
where minds break free like wild stallions,
galloping, unsaddled, unbridled by law, by rule, by doubt!
I see you, unseen spirit—
you, with fire in your blood, in your breath,
dissatisfied, disillusioned, yet burning—
you who shout from rooftops and basement corners alike,
filling the night with primal yawp!
O the thrash of guitars, the snap of drums,
a cacophony of youth breaking through like dawn!
Each note a heartbeat,
each scream a proclamation:
I AM HERE, I EXIST, and no chain shall bind me!
I, Walt, speak for you!
For the ones lost in the haze of now,
for the unnamed, the restless, the fierce—
you who wear rebellion like a second skin,
who laugh and rage, defiant under stars that blink with old-world silence.
Come, let us crash together,
under the flicker of streetlights and neon,
where the dust of forgotten dreams rises like incense—
where every word you spit, every howl you make
is not a whisper, but a song, a shout—a testament
to the glorious chaos of being alive,
of tearing apart the veil of the ordinary!
Who are you to be tamed?
Who are you to be quiet?
I feel your pulse beneath the skin of America,
I see your fists raised high,
your anthem echoing through the city’s veins.
Your spirit, your scent, your thrumming desire—
all of it, a wave crashing on the shores of existence,
ripping through the fabric of time—
and I, the bard of all,
stand with you, sing with you—
together we proclaim:
O! the world is not enough, and we shall want for more!
:: 10.17.2024 ::
Had a stack of magic spells
within my heart to dwell upon
this summer’s evening
TOOK the stem of a lavender bloom
and twisted it
to release its stress
upon this summer evening
The fragrance danced upon the breeze,
whispering secrets to the trees,
as twilight stretched its velvet skies
and kissed the day with soft goodbyes.
The stars awoke, a thousand eyes,
to watch as wishes took to flight,
and in that quiet, tender glow,
I let the world and worries go.
For in the spell of night so clear,
I found the peace that lingers near—
a gentle pulse, a steady breath,
that conquers fear and quiets death.
The magic stirred within my chest,
and lulled my restless soul to rest.
:: 10.17.2024 ::
While day turned to evening
I had given up my ghost
to all the events of life,
its heavy burden and boast.
Yet in the quiet twilight’s fall,
I felt the stars begin to call,
whispering secrets I had lost—
reminders of what matters most.
The moon, a mirror of my soul,
reflecting truths I couldn’t hold,
cast shadows where my heart once bled,
and lit the paths I never tread.
In every silver beam, I found
the echoes of a deeper sound—
a melody of love and light,
that softly sang throughout the night.
Beneath the weight of cosmic skies,
I saw the world through clearer eyes.
The scars of time, the hands of fate,
had painted beauty, even late.
For in the cracks of shattered dreams,
a radiant hope forever gleams,
reminding me, despite the cost,
there’s still so much that’s never lost.
The night embraced me in its grace,
and wiped the tears from every trace.
I found my spirit in the glow,
where time and space no longer flow.
For in that stillness, I became
a spark within creation’s flame,
and all that life had ever known
was written in my heart of stone.
:: 10.13.2024 ::
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 ::
The towers rise as shadows hum
A tremble in the twilight’s grace—
A melody of time undone,
Each note a whisper, soft—displaced.
The Moorish halls with echoes fill,
Of footsteps long since turned to dust,
Yet still they breathe—by music’s will,
An ancient voice in marble’s crust.
The gardens bloom in memory
Of hands that shaped the tender vine
And here, within, the mystery
Of fleeting life, in chords—divine.
Oh, how it winds—this tender air,
A ripple through the orange bloom
As though the past is woven there,
Within the twilight’s fragrant room.
And still, the song, it plays for me
A ghost of Alhambra’s heart
The palace, now, a memory
Yet lives through strings that never part.
:: 10.11.2024 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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