*a black heart drowning in euphoria*

Abstract

Forensics Of

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I’ve been zoning out from reality
Dreaming of dreams that will never be
Life that time has stolen from me
People who I’ll never meet or meet again…

My soul caught fire when I’ve settled for hell
Disguised as this world
Now no man can save me.

I’ve drank a cup of fire
And I’m vomiting cold blades
I keep losing myself in the gloom of these seven shades
The worst truth is that I have never lived a lie
…and I have never lived
and I can’t wish I never did.
Undrown me so I can breathe!

I can’t wish I never lived
even if Truth be this.
When I’m morose I master my expertise
When I’m a master they think I’m diseased, decreased or deceased.
Where then shall I maintain my honesty
If it has no place in every society?
Forensics of a poet’s tragedy

Physics of the bullets of agony
That missed my brains and bludgeoned my heart without touching it…
Gun ballistics and fluid dynamics
When the scenes are so serene
But the past is a redout.

Blackout!

How many times, without dying, did I really end my Life? Did I?
How many crimes of mediocrity have unmade me?
How many dead stars extracted my wishes from my memories?
How many vultures have been staring at me for all eternity
While I lay petrified watching corpses rise as zombies

How deep, severe, have I been severed,
immersed in the wailing of sunshine..
Why was sunshine wailing?
Though I feel like a dancing skeleton with flappy hollow wings
I’m not the ghost that’s pointing at me.

I keep doing the forensics of my own tragedy
When I dream of dreams that will never be
And ache for the Life that probably eludes me…
Until I can see the people who are still really there.
Then,
Like a moon at daytime hiding behind a burst of clouds
I zone back to reality
And see what I can make of me.


Where Oh Where to Take the Stars

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Where oh where oh where to take the stars,
My dearest, sweetest whom I must guide away from liars…

Time stretches her arms to extend despondency
Autumn mirrors my melancholy….

Yet the world’s sourly wrought ages,
Wrinkle primitive inclinations…
Unembraces callously
Beings composed in disintegration…

A contained container with contents somewhere else…
The song of the wind in a planet Mars….
Ridiculous words that deceive the self-proclaimed
Astronauts who have never seen the stars…

We’ve ceased to understand what impediments are
As we merely speak of them from our inner gnomes…
Scattering ourselves without motion,
Feigning malfunctions in our chromosomes..

If tides and currents make good scours
We’ll be mistaking them for scars…

Maxims, Axioms, Dictums of who?
Unbuild my dreams and break my rhymes…
Meridians prime, where I can’t find
The over-stalked lover in Pacific’s crimes

Magnetic Storms cast me frozen
While I hold the burnings stars…
I must stretch Time’s arms even longer
For a diameter’s half that breaks seven bars…

My dearest child, kept in gray
I hope we both don’t ever go astray…


Of Time…

toddlers58

Sometimes,
good intentions without understanding result to worse things.
Sometimes,
it’s better to not understand beings and simply respect feelings.

Ripples of thoughts
of wonders and sorrows
severe his mind gracefully
at the wrong time….

All in non-extremes
beg for attention
when the only Freedom starts with Detention…
Isolation
Seemingly Zombiefication
– A Liberation they know nothing of.

Pink and Green
Images of woe
Images of Joy
Disprove Slumber

-THE DEATH WAS REAL!

It was a nightmare that came before sleep
It was a dream that happened because he awakened…

But now he must awaken again….

There is a pool of woe in the Southeast,
and fish in the cold air up North to the West…
He knows no other waters but woe.

Time stops in this climax of suffering.

The LIFE was real…

Sometimes,
he gets swallowed up in a time machine…
and knows just about too many things…
Sometimes…
he only thought of time…

He cries to sleep,
wakes up the same,
blood flowing through his veins
and outside of them.

Splashes of blood
on this mundane floor
drown him gently
in sweet Sunday gloom.


From The Heaven-Empowered Lady Echoing Non-sense

View from Emscherpark in Duisburg

To the Catastrophic, Aggressive Stoic – The Ordinary Rebel,
To the Profound, Outstandingly Loving Lunatic Unbound – X,
You can not waste your life wishing to die,
Nor spend it not wanting enough to live…
Because you search so passionately for the Golden Fleece…
And with blood and heart have expanded immortality…

White Light, bright fire,
Look up to yourself with your feet on the ground,
You’ve claimed so many wrong places to be heaven
And see not your own place in it…
In darkness, the sky is your mirror,
Can you see not how wonderful you are?

But you are much more than that.


Fall Autumnly

A Collaboration with Conrad Garcia
ShidareZakura_Autumn

—Gently flee and take those barren fields
With your bare and obsolete heart
Startle, wake, not the sun
Who eased on your fiery desolation
Indefatigable sweetheart,
Forever sullen romance:
Swell—spring,
Summer afternoon,
Aftershocks, relentlessly
Play my nostalgic fiddle
Like this plagued vacant winter spell
Seldom now we gently flee—


To Hover Above

Tips

Often, I feel like crashing into the sun when I forget
That I can just hover above the clouds…
Then I return to reality to gaze upon the beauty from where I stand….
And see all these that make the world go round…
Good and bad, through which all good can be made…
There’s no bad thing that can’t transcend to something good,
And there’s no good thing that can result to bad…
And when they say that hate had sprung from Love,
I say hate was always hate, or there was never love…

Often, I have felt, that I’ve just strayed into the moon
When I’ve forgotten that I could… hover above the stars…
Then I return to reality to gaze beyond the beauty in where I stand….
And understand why must the world go round…


The Saddest Poem

bird

I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would die
and then I wanna cry my heart out as if I’ve lost God…
I wanna run in circles within an untamed wilderness
after my tears have equalled the waves of the seas…
and find myself at the top of a snow-capped mountain
screaming my frozen lungs out and hearing only my voice
transmitting the rage of my burning heart.
Distorted and soul-starved,
I don’t ache to feel a little less alive…
Nor do I merely ache…
My madness does not represent a longing for joy
Not even a longing for death.
My loneliness is not soothed by company.
My burden blinds with light.
There is nothing more worse for me and ill
than the simple mediocrity when I do not sing when I will.


Chambers of the Obsolete III

Originally uploaded and copyrighted in xyldrae.deviantart.com

So dark, the shadows in my eyes
So light, the hell within my burden,
That I may never say good night
In the calming presence of moonlight.

So vast, the barren spaces of my woes
So crowded, the only things that hold
That I may never taste more than defeat
In the cruel chambers of the obsolete.


You’re Only As Deep As Your Diction

An exchange of words doesn’t mean a conversation has commenced.
Sometimes people communicate better in silence.

You’ll be surprised with what Silence can say
And disgusted with what a thousand words can not.
The timing of holding your tongue
Perfects your mastery on wielding the words you’ve got.

Diction is action.

Actions are one of those things that we truly own.
Yet, it’s one of those things most people die to give away.
Ironic as we were all infants when we were born
Yet some of us never grew up, some even ended stray…

And we are all adults at some point
But not all of us choose to grow wisely young…
And we were all made to not last in this form
A hymn of envy that fallen angels have sung…

These are underrated statements.

A good man lives in God’s time.
The non-inquisitive are confounded.
Have you seen a deeper soul than one that has settled
Its confounded passions for diversities unrelented?

Do not risk falling asleep and waking up
With things you can not wake up to. Forgive.
Do not risk falling asleep and waking up
With things your soul aches not to die with. Live.

These are scarcely practiced values.

You have not been hired to make an appearance on Earth,
You were gladly brought into it and invited
To savor the glory of the fullest of Life and what isn’t.
To not merely scratch the surface of Heaven and Hell and finish untainted.

While favorites are fine, how would you know there are better things in Life
If you’ve shut your ears exclusive to just one genre of music?
Find all your assets a glass half full or a glass half empty –
Inevitably you always have something and that is terrific!

These are inceptions to tell you what ‘Difference’ means.

PRESERVATION is the name of a false god.
Reservation, one of his forms;
Should you check if you’ve descended towards being a god,
See if you enviously live within self-righteous norms…

Then one need not tell you how awful you’ve been,
With all your lame deceit.
Vanity will wear your soul as its crown
An you would seem very proud of it.

These are some of the willful deadly sins…

A willing man is moved by his desire
To achieve and not by his desire to please;
Thus, you’ll perceive nothing mundane from a willing man
And his gestures with good intentions shall always give ease.

Those who always say they want to die
Usually mean they are dying to live
Those who are closely incapable of tears
Usually suffer greater than those who did…

These are a flow of flaws so common.

Don’t use your mouth for the deaf.
Don’t use visuals for the blind.
Don’t bother to touch the numb.
Find the functional or leave it behind…

Most often, a curse is a gift you just don’t understand
Or a gift you know not how to use.
It’s too strange not to be strange…
Deepen your prayers and you’ll know not to abuse.

These are the neglected obvious.

Seeing the wrongs is a chance to make things better.
So smile when you see one, and multiply those smiles when you do.
If you can see the disasters of others and find the light amidst your own
Then you won’t question your heart when it tells you who are you…

He who despairs to keep what’s beautiful
By wasting off every bit of beauty it bares
He had never had and will never have
But the aftersense of Asmodeus glares.

These, like pride, are just but other forms of insecurity.

Your temptations are not only meant to destroy you,
But to make you a means to destroy
Something bigger and brighter than you.
Look outside your self and furthermore enjoy…

You can never understand something real
When you’re listening with a fake ear.
A good listener knows when and how
To make someone shut up and tame his falsified ear.

These are some aspects of proper co-existence.

It’s not a relationship if one can not relate.
You can not cut a bridge that you’re still crossing unless you want to fall in vain.
The less you are in a prayerful life, the more sick you’ll become..
Begging your dawns and brief nights be spared by chaotic rain.

There’s no such shallowness to which real depth can not compensate;
So kiss with your ears when your lips have failed. Yes, kiss…
Look with your eyes closed when you can’t find while they’re wide open
There’s quite a gain you’d get for life’s every haunting miss.

This could be but a circus of words, should you chose to make it.


The Roots Of

Weaved by thoughts severed the most
And illest visions for the blind and abled
My heart is forced, caught into the Paradox
Confusing the roots of misdemeanors…
“Love does not take account of a wrong that is suffered.”


Open Shutter

I wanted to capture running water
Shaping rocks yonder the spotlight sunset
But His hands keep me from my lover Ocean
With untimely tides and decent injuries…

There’s a barren sense
Within the four corners where I lay
Outside, the stars glitter smiles for my solitary stay
While the moon won’t even show its face…

Just like the night skies
I was unwhole to the naked and non-parallax eye….
My ears can only hear my Lover’s heartbeat
Wash the shores and securities away…

Open shutter,
Choose the better light
Draw my frustrations away
Into a better sight….


Not Haunted As I Am

I’m tracing shadows of my dead hair
On this dead sheet against a live lamp
Where my tired head floats somewhere in between.
Of course.
There’s weight in emotion
And weight in thoughts
Ich schreibe Gedichte
Maybe,
But I can write poems.
I’ve consciously disregarded the full moon
And chose remote wastelands of statistics…
I’ve had everything calculated disregarded
Per chance to look forward to something better.
Spontaneity, overwhelmed with Serendipity
Are eventually… best savored rationally.
Everybody’s haunted
But not haunted as I am…


The Agony of Being Happy

I’m counting days until I’m next to you
If I stop for a second I’d have to time forever again
I’m not fond of the need to be near you
For they mean having to be far from all else…

There’s a price to be paid for each sacrifice
Thank God I don’t take this like a businessman…
I dread the day I’ll be kissing you
While I don’t know who I am…

My heart says sorry…
My spirit is angry…
There’s just too much repression
Brewing up all the agony…

…Of being happy.

I haven’t stopped trying to preserve who I was…
But when I look at this image upon my wrist
I know everything counts
And I can not be someone who’s far without who I was…

I love you too much…
I love else as much…
None can have it all!
I belong with you.


Memory Of Eternity

It is a memory of Eternity
Frozen with the heart
Painted in Light and Waves
And death and life…
And that point where both intertwine…
To be one and oddly the same…

I can not discern it good or bad
All I know is how lost it deepens my mind…
How it stalks the stars for something bigger than dreams…
How it makes me forget who I am and who I want to be…
How it rescues me…
To destroy me on and on again…


Masochistic Mystery

There’s nothing more to me
Than this masochistic mystery
That begs to not end your story
Of just who are we?


We Move Along


Night thoughts like molten rock….
Effusive states;
A madman’s volcanic vent —

If night lights don’t soothe you
And moonlight hides…
Transport your thoughts to morning sights…
That need no man-made light….

Two is better than one…
We choose to be one…
But not always one with our Maker…

We move along blindly spinning
With our spirits stagnantly weeping…

We move along
Blindly spinning
With our spirits
Stagnantly weeping…

We must return!
We must return!

…To our Maker…


Three Steps

(A collaboration with Sherylene Dela Cruz)

As the wind blows, my knees weakened
and found myself in prayer.
The elements cast our heads bowed-
celestial inclination
after shrinking’s end
Off to the tunnel of glory
casting away all the fury – Let there be
drought for deep awakening!


The Cross

“the circular, colored curtain of the eye….”
From its opening, the pupil takes form…
Through it, the light that enters, regulates…
Everything’s made to be broken.

I am deaf to the song of fools
Yet I find no wise man’s rebuke….
Perhaps I am called to take his place….


Awarely Unaware

(Expressing for an anonymous friend)

I have proacted drama involuntarily, or so I say
Because my choices do not make me look good at all;
And Euthanasia disguised as Euphoria lays its stage,
Bringing forth all players in my head, all dressed as fools.
Their dialogues are noises, though one meaning they accord:
My fate is seared. I am not wanted. Please make it change!

…But I can never change her who
Had made me, at every second split,
Aware that I try to breathe
And aware that I’m unaware.


Schizophrenic Conference on Masochism

Pray be decrypted by no asylum mortal
Not everyone likes stars and twinkling objects savored by heavens
There are those alienated by reverie
And there are those who associate
Alienation with destruction –
Only their own.

Danced in the surfaces of the Sun.
It did not suffice.
Sickled folly and Cronian disguise;
Cold rock and hard ice;
All you wanted was Saturn’s rings
To have a path to render shadows for your wings
Or to make you stand out a little more
So you wrong yourself in circles; come and go.

Don’t go…

You’ve falsely been Venus in someone’s eyes and
Jaundiced one, yours opened sore.
What’s not to like when all suffering makes you strive
Strive to be alive?

Oh why transform into the cold-cloaked Pluto?
You’re more hollow than that.
Your message never even reached bankrupted Mercury
Who lost his celestial bindings when you changed the context.
Yes, you can bring a demi-god down.
Bring them all down.
There must be another way to make dear Mercury care
And not let your solitude cast his end.
Yes, you can raise up the fallen.
Feather the fallen.

Carry yourself and your hammered wings.

You feel Jovian yet you’re shrunk.
You felt Jovian and have sunk.
Didn’t you know that Jupiter’s just a button on his shirt?
Which he only touches to be bare and not?
So go swallow your heart,
Ego can sometimes be good to revive.
At least retrieve your livid mind from dead Mars.
And resign your threads on the oceans of Neptune.
You were allowed your own seas to brave and dread.
You were deprived your own seas but not allowed any other.
Go reside in newly-furnished nebula then,
Or garnish it and eat it like you’ve been starving for ethereal home.
Ignore his coming like some husband to our Mother Earth.
Immunize the consciousness to such plague.

You do have color, Earth.
Pastel skies surround you on an angels’ spree.
If only this fellow can watch it from your grounds…
Poor creature’s still left in outer space…

Gravity is not for me.

Don’t say that! Shut up!
Forget the milky way!
Unbecome the black hole…
Believe that your beloved sunshine’s infernal.
It’s really not so hard…
It’s really not too hard!

Damn wraith nametagged Gloom!
Pollux’s alpha twin crowned itself a constellation on its own
With big dreams to shatter the Great Bear with
While the little humble one remains more massive than the sun.
Time… Prelude.
Time. Time. Time!
Some myth for a scarce stallion mourns
An arrow that may never set off and soar…
And then there was
Sweet November.

Mercy. That’s the planet sent to exile
In a universe gone awry named…

What’s your name again?

Exist first to surrender.


Dunes

(A collaboration with Conrad Garcia)

Indistinct in the twilight,
The veiled bride moon.
Tales of rabid white lies
Whisper howls on the freezing desert plain;
Skies stripped of their stars, arousing handicapped sighs
That sometimes touch the infinity of sands
And wail through storms that peril no man
For no man was here—
Patiently the vultures drool
While much stranger things contemplate their kills.
Do the winds even know they can make or break the Earth;
Their tenacious movements so restless, refined in plains of aridity?
And oh… what else do they carry
Aside from a mass of emptiness
To proliferate that of the cold, retreating night?
There’s nothing to break so –
Some slacks come around the way of the scorpion
Far from what throbs and aches for their venom;
The dessert eagle glares, casting
On a detached carapace, the scowl of a rising flame.
And still, no man is here.
Spirits wail from where…
Valleys of disenchantment tell stories of fleeting passersby
Thorned and torn by the old worlds
Craven to the unfamiliar, spiteful to the new.