Tuesday, April 21, 2015


That pile of dried bones
Resting under dust and stones
Is what you will find
When you dig under your throne

That one of a kind
Is just in your mind
You are mostly alone
Just left behind

The coronation seems
Distant light dimmed
The fire no longer shine
Only shadows of dreams

You have chosen this path
You have dreamed it alone
Don't expect old bones
To wake from their death

Don't talk to stones
Wear alone the wreath
Had the journey been an easy one
the mighty blow might saved a breath


At times when fail
Is your only grail
And you hopeful gaze
At indifferent eyes
The same old
dusty question is:
You weren't an angel
to even start
Wings only an imaginary
dream upon a star
No, there is no hail
I am sorry honey
Not even you will self bail

Thursday, April 2, 2015


How dare you confine me in your insignificant box
she gazes at the image meticulously created on the fancy hand mirror
and applies the gloss with the determination of one who loads a gun
the piercing stilettos hit the floor echoing on the hallways passed
insidious prolepsis of places yet to be
She knows the fight is vain
She knows peace in acceptance
and still on her veins the very essence of a warrior
drives her forward
in constant acceleration
burning the mileages of a limited existence
She knows statistically it will be fate
But if...
Just if.
That lingering little thread of hope
that Michelangelo's David will complete the mighty touch