It's All Mirages

See the breeze
Chase the flowers
Knowing not, to me,
What bothers

Use these words
You've just found them
Like sacred knowledge
From a garden forgotten

But trust me
This isn't the first time
The fruit has chosen
Another apple for your eye

Enlightened as Aristotle
And Socrates
But take this gift
Not with ease

For but a child
Your mind is thinking
You will do things
Like oil leaking

A bi-polar ship
You seem to be
With great power
So avoid the green

Watch where you spill out
Be wary who you give
Your love, which may be
Better, by someone else, received

With repetition you will find
Better placed, should be, your time
As smoke and mirrors dissipate and clear
Being seen a fool you cannot fear

We've all been blind
And seen these mountains
Trust me Dear,
It's all mirages.

Leaves

We're all falling like leaves on tree branches in fall,
In the wind we're all blowing, looking for peace above all,
Crunched down by feet some large some small,
Sticking in cracks and crevices, in entropy and sprawl,

Drifting

You're just a pretty face for me to put in my wallet,
Nestled among the money that I could never love,
One of the things I look at from time to time,
When the clouds hide the stars up above,

Jesus said, "they know not what they do".
We're all drifting at sea, without reason or rhyme,
And it's oh so hard to care about you,
But I still pretend to... is that such a crime?

Late-night Organ Donor

I entered. The night finally began.

The sounds of lust and jewels

banged against my eardrums.

Fancy light shows made the dark

seem fun and the array of sexual

scents only aroused.

Along with my cigarettes, 

I was inhaled into the night.

My eyes finished adjusting.

I prowled.

Her sensual presence robed

them. She wrapped herself

 in shameless silks.

Her impious body appealed

more than the usual glance we shared,

in early morning art class.

No more Picasso or

Mona Lisa. All I pictured now

was Lisa moaning.

I saw her friend. I looked

around, they where everywhere.

I was one of them. A late-night organ donor.

On the night we played

with spirits in hands, to our anthems 

sinfully.

My Blue Shirt

My tears soaked

my blue shirt

the day my mother moved.

Away far away

to a place where pesos

turn to dollars.

For a better life.

I recall hearing over and over

I did not understand my single mother.

The adults in the room sat

and talked, while I dangerously,

screamed and sobbed.

Like an animal I trampled

back and forth

barking no, please no.

With their calm faces

they tried to tame me.

Throbbing eyes, gnashed teeth I say no.

But promises where made about

some return. That before I knew it

I would wreck into her arms, again.

Quickly. My solemn peace was robbed

by my own thoughts that

inevitably finished me off.

How long until she left?

No matter how hard I tried

the damned question entered my mind.

I did not want to find out but

like the pain in my cavity

I had to relive myself and ask.

When?

The word slid

of my tongue and crashed

through my teeth.

Tonight…

The word shot

through my ears

and rattled my soul.

My tears soaked

my blue shirt

the day my mother moved. 

The Spindle's Demise

As the kitchen swirls

around, and the restaurant packs in

nothing is stable, nothing

is tact. Only commotion.

Although ,one thing seems

to remain calm. No matter

how busy or slow, it never

looses composure.

The spindle. Home and Grave

of all tickets. With its firm base,

piercing tip; The possibilities

never seem to let me be, but

it understands its job.

Stab it. The spindle doesn’t

mind. It stands ready

on a Friday night

rush, the blood will

from his eyes; He should

of tipped me.

Oh the spindle’s demise

in my thoughts (maybe yours).

But for now though, the spindle

and I keep to our own. Until I

loose it, grab it, and use it.

Fine

We were 16 some even 15,

only a handful had cars.

Being at the school wasn’t fun

That’s why we would leave to just go, sit and park

outside of cool places only

like fast-food joints and parks.

Some would smoke

like they had something to prove

while others talked

about what their dad disapproved of.

No one listened to anyone or anything

but music.

Everyone’s problems where

anything but interesting and amusing.

All the girls liked

to kiss and tell,

especially while the pastor’s

sermon (that week) was all about hell.

Many wore clothes

with those same designs.

I still have that bird flying

around in my mind.

We’d, always had to  

leave to make it back in time though.

Or else,

the teachers would find the reason for

our absent time.

Now imagine if I had told my mom

all of this when I got home and she ‘d

ask the usual question

“How was school today?”

instead of just saying “fine”.