The Moment

SanityThought of as a lack of cacophonyBut it’s a matter of identityAnd one’s relationship to eternity  LoveShe flies through my arms like a doveShe flies through my heart like a dartThe curve of a woman is her artCarried by gossamer wingsThrough a diaphanous veil she sings  FriendshipWhy does it contain hardship?Because … Continue reading The Moment

Captain of the Ark

In the grey and smoky fog of the dark and rainy street
Where youthful souls of corpses meet
A kindred spirit, so they don’t feel so alone,
A wild-eyed misfit prophet watches them run
Occasionally glancing at some banality on his smartphone 

No one knew he was there
Despite, or perhaps because of, the electric horror of what remained of his hair
He didn’t want their friendship
He told himself, as his heart sank like a scuttled ship
Into a dank abyss
Of diaphanous purposelessness 

All the dreams had already been had
But none of them came true
His cynicism would not survive the irony that the dream that wasn’t bad
He would have while awake, while wondering what to do 

He knew how he would be crucified
Ever since the dust-covered and war-torn months of 2005 

When his colleague trampled his nation’s honors
By the mouth of the enemy fellatiated
Our world-worn hero’s face was too ugly to be next to hers
So their answer was that he be castigated 

Freedom
The dream one achieves when they escape their life’s custom
Until they scroll through their rolodex to see that they’re lonesome 

Ennui
A curse one breaks with serendipity 

And then she was there
The angel he longed to see
Her sinews wrapped in delicious sweet milk
Her shoulders glazed by a honey cascade of hair
What would she make of his ilk
What does she see in me 

She didn’t reject his curious stare
If she were ugly, no one would care
Their murderous gaze wasn’t even skin deep
While he prayed the Lord her soul to keep 

With their pitchforks and cocktails of turpentine
The infernal masses would no longer contain their attacks
In their campaign against our friendly neighborhood Frankenstein
In order to protect their normal from facts 

A baby with harp and angel’s wings
Painted on vaulted ceilings among other things
In fever dreams above his head
He clutched the cold sheets beside him in bed 

The mysterious writers called it a boat
In that confusing old book they wrote
Then they called it a gold-plated box
In those tales not too different from Goldilocks 

What is this thing that the Philistines stole
It’s really just a human soul
It contains the law of God and lawgiver’s staff
But Leviathan has successfully split it in half 

The ticking of seconds
The conformity of chromosomes
Endless discussions for psychic brigands
Covering their heads in tinfoil domes 

For better or worse, the ark has been opened
And no one knows how this journey will end
How dare he make a friend
A happy finale makes the masses shudder
But in her hands is the rudder
There is no other 

They don’t get to tell me who I enjoy
Or whether it’s a girl or boy
Or quibble about too old or young
My words and kisses come from MY tongue 

Overdue

You are so long overdue
For a poem that describes you
The effect you have on my heart
Is a divinely crafted art
Possessed by no woman before
Since before the days of yore 

Your beauty is a gleaming sigil
Of an angel’s unceasing vigil
That brought you to earth near to me
In my days of emotional entropy
Your smile, your laugh brings such joy
As to make me a man from a boy 

You fuel passion to my spirit
With every second you are near it
I love you my dearest Ana Maria Mironescu
And no fairy or pixie compares to you
Therefore my heart’s song is just a hum
Until the time when you come 

I am the Ocean

I am the ocean
Or really my heart is
A victim of furious emotion
Vulnerable to any cute Ms.
Who tricks me into daring
To trust that she can forgive
To believe that she is caring
And make love a life to live 

I am the sea
A source of life
To she who comes to me
I will fill her life
With adventure and passion
By my soul-changing aqua ink
In an overwhelming fashion
Through which I give her my drink 

I am the water
Utterly malleable
A dangerous father
For the one so fallible
To take my fish on the wrong day
In which I cover her with my waves
So that my love goes away
With no one there who saves 

However, she will not die in my deep
But in the depths of her loneliness
Her soul will not be mine to keep
In romantic and sensual holiness
Her love will just be a wasteland
Of scorpions and desert
With no sea eagle to take her hand
And to fly her from the hurt 

Blessed Virgin Jezebel

I watch you from so far away, unable to reach you as I am shackled to this skull and bones throne of propriety. You stand there alone, surrounded by legions of nascent Olympians. Every inch of you, from your cinnamon hair to your angel-winged feet, glistens from the covering of the juice of their passion. My heart is on fire. Yet my blazing heart falls broken to the floor, nothing but angry ashes, ripped out of my body and dashed upon jagged rocks by chords fashioned from the hair of Delilah the betrayer. There was once a hero who could break those bonds. I have his same source of strength. But will it be there for me? What road must I travel to find you? You, who are the only one who is loyal. You, the only one who is pure.