These are the letters of my life

These are the letters of my life
Wretched and nude, wandering and alone
Nobody will open their seal of discoveries
Only I know the contents of my cells
That begged for purity in such a polluted corrupt world
* * *
Hardly even I could find a speck of kindness
In the abyss that separated us here
Only for instance, the smiles of others to each other
Were the letters ever answered?
I don’t remember, I am no longer me, no longer the writer
* * *
I only hope for little things now
For nourishment, and survival and sanctuary
But even these things, I don’t find so easily
Not friends, lovers or helpfulness along the way
I’m vilified by the same people I seek to help
* * *
Ready to feel the doom from my own hands, like is my custom
The unanswered letters gather up in me
Like memories of reaching out for nobody
The universe didn’t hear my call, my acts were too small
* * *
One day I shall reply to myself, glad and grateful
Though I once thought that day was near, now I am unsure
The world collapses upon me like speckled seasons
I am an endangered species to myself
* * *
I long for things I have never found
I have no proof they exist, in me or in others
There is no glimmer of honesty honest enough for me
No spiritual fire that washes me clean once again
* * *
Only the regret of living, only the guilt of wanting
Only the desires that lead yet to more desires
There are no great cities left for me
But the landscapes seem heavy with time
* * *
I am joyous for simple things, because
There’s nothing left of the illusions we used to hold
Those treasures like the burning sun on youthful skin
It’s gone now, as I rediscover myself alone.

But With a Fraction of the Love

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve felt my life

In the murmur of a bee

And felt all my tears

 

In the eminence of a nest

And the daffodils blew color

Covert as April, or candid as May

I took my time to age and my time

Was plenty, in the solitude

 

Of antiquity, forgetting for answering

Only questions, guided me

At the breaking of the day

 

Where golden drops spawned

Longer looks and deeper searching

All for something immaterial

There is a flower which no longer blooms

It’s in my heart or should I say, it was

 

It’s gentle romance led me on

In the chivalry of my subjective warmth

Where I was not alone, nor humming birds left

 

The measures of days were not my smiles

My splendour was meagre, my heart

Was the moistness of oxygen

In your lungs, the breath that kept you sane

When life was a tyranny of choice until

 

There was none left and freedom hung

Like a low hanging fruit, of what our lives had become.

 

INGREDIENTS FOR CHANGING MEMORY

I am not sad anymore; I am the saddest happy person
I am the rooftop of my cheer leading squad
The bread and butter of poetry
With friends coming & going
I can’t keep track of my traditions
That are dying, my shells of laughter
The forms that gave me pleasure
I am not sad anymore; only despairing
Of the same things that no longer
Make me happy, I am a soul excited in time
Not for longing or possession
But for the exceptions and synastries
That keep me alive, young, in joy
The hallways always open for me
Dynasties of love getting me there.