Drawing Breath

The sun does down,
the moon dips.
The clouds scatter
while the birds
chase trees to sit.

The rivers tell a tale
of how fast they run.
The roots never whine
of being under and done.
The flower blossoms,
the soil gets stronger.
The winds race
and the hills embrace.

What’s left is how
they choose to grow.
What matters is how
unready they take the fall.
Unexpectedly, there’s more to come.

So rise with gratitude
only to fall without a sigh.
So be yourself
and imitate
the nature’s way of life.

Wicked Masks We Wear

How’s the pain?
The gain.
The vain.
Of trying,
maybe not.
Of failing,
but how?

What a wicked mask to wear.
Another right you make wrong.
You’re done
maybe then.
You’re here
sometimes then?

Thanks to you
you’ve come this far.
Struggling for breath
fighting the scars.
Don’t let them stay.
Never mistake its charm.
For it is what it is
that’s how you’ve learned to calm.

. . .

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Uninterruptible Awakening

Uninterruptible awakening
the clarity has made
our wisdom go dark.
What was yesterday
will be our tomorrow,
but what’s today
is the purest moment we have.

Don’t let what frightens
you let you sleep
you must stay awake.
Forge your name
with tears and blood
until your veins feel lost.

Tired is for the weak
haven’t you heard them scream?

Surviving comes easy,
but this feels forced
you feel trapped
and you don’t
find your reality.

. . .

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Mirror Mirror

If it’s in the mirror you’re looking at, what do you see? Do you see flames or do you see yourself as free?

. . .

Mirror mirror on the wall
like frames set up
to take the fall
for all the crimes you committed
for all those you didn’t
standing against a wall now
the edges as sharp as your commitments.

Mirror mirror on the wall
like prisoners lined up for the fall
crumpled like pages
temptations ahoy
scaled to seem perfect
but no matter what you live for
it’s always the image
the one you once used as a toy.

. . .

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That Sweet Talk

Who has written the possibility of what is taught is understood is materialized, every time? On the spontaneity of false notions, the fatalistic desire of the damnable, and everything leading up to that sweet talk we happen to speak to ourselves at least once in our lifetime against self-criticism and faith. Maybe, just maybe, what is taught is never completely understood, but is still materialized, all the time.

. . .

That sweet talk
to frustrate me
to provoke me
into complete destruction.

That sweet talk
of times ahead
with weapons of my past
only to numb me of my head.

That sweet talk
of memorable experiences
that often lead to disasters
let’s just call them strange incidences.

That sweet talk
of fighting my demons
of avenging from self
in the name of freedom.

That sweet talk
turning tides every season
and with courage
it’s only made from my hidden treason.

. . .

Want to see more of my poems? Follow me on Instagram, here. You’ll find my latest tweets, here. And my new Facebook page, right here