First Draft - Unfinished

This is something I started a while back. Maybe in March? But it is very much unfinished. Can't seem to get through the battle scene yet. Might get inspired sooner or later though.


I hope you find the beast inside you
Then kill the devil within.
Expel the asshole out
Don't hold back on anything.
Savior doesn't exist
Pain does - I would know.
Don't look around for help
Save your energy and woes
Throw your sticks and stones
And prepare for what's to come.
The battling ground opened
....

666

If I could choose a knife
I would -
But a gun would do
the trick.

It wouldn't penetrate
my hate
But it would certainly
satisfy the crave.

A coward moves over
A desperate pleading soul.
An untold moment Stolen
in defeat's sorrow's mode.

No hatred to succumb
No lust to consume.
Letting go would be a treasure
Lingering - my tomb.

Good bye for now - Sucker.
Never again to meet.
I hope one day you know
What it's like to feel such hate.

Very Unfinished.

In that madness,
We rot
In that ecstasy
We decay
There is no reason
for love
There is no reason
to stay.

Nothing is whole
Everything is unique
All is one
None is all.

If there is none of nothing,
If there is much of everything,
How can oneness exist
And how can difference survive?

Cuerpo Mio

Este cuerpo
Siempre te decepcionará
Con mis curvas
Mis tetas
Mi culo
Mi lengua.
Un paraíso
Que nunca te dará
Lo que ahora pides
Lo que ayer perdisteis
Lo que mañana vas a querer
Lo que nunca quise.
Este cuerpo lleno de errores
Te dejara vacío y lleno de emociones.

Act Twenty

I wrote this backstage this past April. I was in a play written by my friend Cathie Smith The Millennial's (did I write that correctly - big debate on how the title was spelled!). In between my scenes I sat backstage doodling behind my script. This is a poem that was inspired by my life on stage.

Puppets they say,
"They're all puppets!"
Smile, Sit, Speak -
Too soon. Louder!
Lights up. Lights down. Done.
Puppets? Liars?
Masked thieves
Identities.
Lines that don't belong to us.
Lives that don't exist -
"Who are the people that cry on stage?"
Players or actors?
None.
Manipulated roles:
Laugh. Cry. Lie.
Fake.
Puppets they call us.
No.
Call us Artists.

Ode to Ireland

During Semana Santa this year, (mid April) I went road tripping in Ireland. It was one of the most magnificent experiences I have ever had. It will live in my memory and heart for the rest of my waking life. It was one hell of a journey - a trip where I discovered so much more than just a country... I discovered myself. So here goes a bit of that Muse that this country became:

In the land of so much history,
I dive in templar's trace.
Ruins of ages past -
Where myths and fairies reign.
Graceful in its vivid battle,
Beaten in Beauty's domain.
Intertwined in shapeless defeat,
Starved souls
And
Carved names...
Saints rising and breathing
Suns setting in rain.
Many moons have passed,
And un-rusted it remains.