"The Rock"

There's a rock rolling down the stream, slowly.
It never was dirt but was magma.
It is prejudiced against, naturally.
Slowly it's becoming sand but the river continues without it.
And there are many rocks, next to it,
But they’re at different stages in their pathetic existence,
To us they’re dead.
One day, though solid they may be,
They will become universally understood,
Becoming beautiful answers to a common question:
Is there life on another planet?
And through the development of love and compassion,
They won’t be discovered for another million years,
The intelligence of rocks will have become loved, admired.
Mystically, the rocks grew upset because they were handicapped,
And were alive.
And once the rocks have been spoken of in this new light,
The English language will have changed,
To include them in a non-demeaning term,
Like the "Solids,"
A "rock" has many derogatory meanings, obviously.
A million years later, an ancient song was playing called "Rock and roll"
And soon the whole genre was listened to by the sentient rocks;
Because they felt oppressed, trodden over,
And were treated with the hopelessness as ants are to a crazed child:
Mystically, then, "Rock and Roll" was influenced heavily by Rachmaninoff.
For the Tribe of rocks, he was non-intimidating, and humble.
And he whispered into their ear or so they thought they heard:
Our subconscious mind never developed to its immortal soul.
For the Tribe of rocks, Led Zeppelin was their favorite group,
They're God-like and immortal,
In their music lied a secret code.
The Tribe of rocks chose "Rock and Roll" as their main language,
Then a new mystic after them was yet 'live and his name is Daniel.
And he felt like a rock and had a soul...

"My car"

My car is so dirty, it absorbs all the sunlight
Amidst the bright, sun-shiny foreground
And inside my car, there are so many things
That have to be picked up, for me to be at peace with myself.
'Cause it's a Taurus 2004, Ford, there will always be better
That money can buy, and people can afford, and
Friends admire.  Though there are some cars worse than mine.

"The Ruler of Pluto"

There's an imaginary ruler of the dwarf planet Pluto, 

He wins the dark side of the moon battle ten times over.

His Pluto is so cold, so distant, and so planet-like.

It would take a probe to reach Pluto ten years to pick him up,
And on average, it takes five and a half hours for radio signals to get there--
From earth.
 

We think that if the ruler of Pluto became exposed to the sunlight,
He would be unaffected like the cold color of its sea,
That's why we don't miss him when we're from the third planet of the Sun;
The green atmosphere, thin, and visible, holds heat like a sheet.
And it's just how cold it is that eludes him, because of who he is,
We infer.


The ruler's rock of rocks, ice, and his Loneliest of All made us yearn for more.
He had his reflecting moon, Charon, with him.
So Charon is thought to have been caught in Pluto's gravitational pull:

A stray from the Ort cloud--that's how puny we know it to be.
There are two other moons that orbit Pluto which are even smaller than Charon,
You see.

But as native inhabitants from the third planet of the Sun, 

We never theorized how cold Pluto is on its dark side
And it's moon, Charon, it never became fact where it came from.
Then one, long, Pluto day, the Sun's rays warmed Pluto one more time:

The horizon begun to disappear and cooled facing the backdrop of stars,    
Nebulae, etc..

We were always there with him in spirit, and we always loved him,

In his blissful, ignorant mind.

"Legacy"

                We got a helicopter.  It was camouflage, not black.  There must have been at least four up in the air with us and I was on the one with the President of the United States.  I remember hearing his voice and it had a lazy, doesn’t-care attitude typical of a warmongerer.   Up in the air with us were the top military commanders and pentagon officials, all of whom were dressed in their most highly decorated uniforms—not a single peon was among us.  One would think to enter the field of potential danger, everyone ought to be wearing camouflage—no, but simply the best looking attire one could possibly imagine.   Strategically, the biggest error a country can make is to have the most important backbone such as the military and head of state in harm’s way, because what would happen if they are all lost in the field of battle?   My guess is this mission must have been classified or unbeknownst to anyone else for them to be up in the air simultaneously.  And for some reason I was up in the air with them.   

                We are following a river.  Jungle surrounds both sides.  High opera plays in the speakers to everyone and everyone seemed quiet. 

                “Are we there yet?”  Came on the speakers (the opera music was cut whenever someone spoke).   I still couldn’t make out who it was, but my subconscious knew.  

                “Not yet Mr. President, just a little bit further.”  Said the best helicopter pilot in the world, while holding a 5-star General status.  He spoke like a peon.   He grabbed the throttles and pushed them forward and they looked eerily like those from a 747 Boing commercial airliner.  The helicopter leaned forward and the rotary blades were able to force the helicopter faster given the new angle.  One could see on either side helicopters surrounding the central one with me and the president. 

                While George W. Bush offered few catch phrases here and there, there were many twists and turns but then we stopped moving forward and simply hovered.

                I could hear someone say, “We’re here.”  I was guessing we were in some Latin country, but when I looked down all I could see was the largest kept secret known to mankind—the biggest drop of a waterfall.  It was impossibly deep, no one had a name for it.  And why did this river remind me of the Rio Grande?  We were also level with the top of the plateau on the other side (of the border).   Swiftly, either intentionally, or we were out of fuel I don’t remember (the mission was highly classified), we had to make a landing.  

                George W. Bush stepped out first and a woman came screaming to him.  There’s poor children and some ancient ruins in the background.  His commanders stood motionless and didn’t seek to protect him.  But they all looked formally dressed and unintimidating, without a weapon sheathed or drawn.

                The Queen said, “How dare you enter our territory without our permission.  Can’t you see my child is starving?”

                Reluctantly he gave the cue to his commanding officers and they threw nets down on the side of the helicopter.  He produced two or three crates full of food.

                “Mission fulfilled.”

A sonnet, "deathTouch"

I had a dream; all that was beautiful—

All except the featureless plain—ruined,

The sun waned and light forever faltered.

Below the fallen heavens and cryptic moon

A rose bloomed in its infinite glory,

I pluck that which is perfect in every way,

Bringing forth love before it wilted away,

And with it all that was alive and green.

Familiar lands became featureless plains,

Stars once bright paled—all that was once true ceased.

Than I 'woke; all that was earthly departed,

The sun had extinguished and sky emptied—

'Till in all certainty forlorn by the void

All that remained was lust forevermore.

Flower ~ a poem written in high school

Flower

Dear flower,

What is the purpose of Life

If it were not for the emptiness of death

That could answer?

Why do I seek to be satisfied

If it were not for the fear of hell—

That we may never experience such pleasures

Of love and bliss?

But nay! Tell me:

What of the fiery and death

That thou bask and glorify in—

The Sun—a sphere of fire?

How can one seek pain and call himself 'live,

As to care for family and Wife,

And yet be utterly numb inside?

Rising toward agony!

Do thou not flinch at the site of filth

Nor turn away at the stench of flesh,

Unless wind blow thee 'round?

Do thou not cry as thy children are consum'd

Nor ponder the feeling of loss,

Unless Nature's rain chance?

Is it so paradoxical to be 'live and dead

That it is pleasurable to love and kill,

And live contently with a heart torn?

Then beauty should cease,

As we do not possess any compassion

To live nobly,

As we bask in suffering.

I asked, what is the purpose for being alive

If it were not for the emptiness of death?

Thou hath failed to answer

A testament of being dead. 

Isle of the Dead ~ a poem written in high school

I tried to combine Isle of the Dead with inspiration from a gaming clan called, "deathTouch."  Please tell me

what you think I can work on, and do parts not make sense?

I had a dream; all that was beautiful--

All except the lustrous Garden--ruined,

The sun waned and light forever faltered

As the stars paled into oblivion,

The crumbling Moon fell up on the sky

As all that was 'live and green went ablaze,

Glorious cities once festooned in gold

Fell beneath the abyss which circled Earth

Becoming a Rock barren of verdure,

The laws of the Universe failed-truth ceased!

Under the cryptic Moon and starless sky

Shield'd by the raging Sea on an Isle             

A Rose bloom'd in its innocent glory.

Rowing calmly through the murky water

Under the darkening night always so,

Approaching closer to the misty shore

As the distant sirens reveal their woe,

Cursed souls screaming above in dismay

Forewarn us of the awaiting horrors

But we row on in total ignorance--

On towards salvation: the Golden Gate.

Lo! Not far ahead there is a light--                

A Garden whose joy blazes in fervor

And luscious green could fill the void whole.

Upon arrival a rose bush lay limp

Ecstatically alive glowing blue.

I pluck one which is pure in ev'ry way                      

Bringing my love before it wilts away,          

Then a soaring soul cries out in warning:

"There's no such verity as unfalse hope,                    

Learn from your mistakes and you shall be spared, 

If not, here you shall eternally dwell!"

But in misunderstanding we remained

And rowed toward the upturn'd depths of hell.

We jest in play never seeming to know:

There's a place one cannot go and return

And we are at this place forever so.

Cursed souls crying far up above                   

Sing in sorrow for our horrific fate,

So when the rose buds curled up and fell

Whose shine was truly fire and not beauty

And thorns pierced our flesh 'till blood poured out

We rowed on slowly with our newfound hate

On past the screams through the closing Gate,                      

And lift'd up now in full understanding                    

Dead up above soaring forevermore!

Then I 'woke; all that was earthly depart'd,

Familiar lands became featureless plains,

The Garden had blackened to heaps of ash

Except the rose whose memory still burnt;

The Sun had extinguished and sky emptied

Except the Moon whose fiery fell as rain

That engulfed mankind in its warm bosom;

The ruined cities fell beneath the cracks

Deep into the cataclysms of hell

'Till the Isle itself sunk into the Sea

Draining whole into a massive whirlpool.

When nothing remained,

God the Savior conjured a rose bush;

But as the heavens ruptured He lost hope

And abandoned His Kingdom to chaos.

Oh Hot Woman! ~ a poem written in high school.

Oh hot woman! that creature so perfect

Fell deep in love, and gazed upon this man

‘Bout whom she fantasized, always coupl’d

Ne’er alone nor depressed, but happy

With this dream, and truly obsess’d.

She had Him upon her arms, ne’er concealed

Nor ashamed of love, so oblivious

To His desire, lest He r’veal the truth

And utter neglect, forever bewitched.

He ached for her, wise of their deep bond,

And ne’er discouraged by the failure of Time

When true love succumbs, b’fore grave’s epic end

And curs’d frailty, does death not prevail!

But nay! a fantasy at best, all gone

Whilst ‘tis day, when His gaze speak to her not

Nor hands clasp ‘round waist, d’spite passion restrained

In eyes repeatedly bewilder’d, void

Of thought for Her: a seclud’d oasis

For love’s demise—an illusion alas!

Oh Emptiness enshroud’d, He hates her

Surely unaware and blissful, in want of

Other Maidens anxious, c’rrupt desire

And eyes inviting betwixt, is satisfied

Without her, forgive his failure!

Lost upon the shore, thrust on to the earth

Fallen amongst the damned, forever shunned

With the forgotten, finally begott’n

And remembered ne’er alive, but deceased.

Her body obscene, transfixed in peace

To be laden with dust, buried in d’feat

No longer loved, but e’er alone instead.

Her face so serene, pure angelic heart

Inflict’d with Love b’griefed, abandoned

Hope and desire beguiled, does she not know?

Oh hot woman! ‘bout whom I fantasized,

You will never know, for you are now gone

Ne’er to be cherished, acquired by hell

Blind’d by the depths of despair, toward hate

And emptiness depart’d, hair dulled plain

Whilst lustful body decayed, eternally lost

To me her name and vivid memory;

Oh Forgotten! ‘bout whom I spoke and loved,

Angel out of reach fled, come back to me

Before I join you, lest shape wane e’ermore

Against Time’s ‘lluring crypt, should my legs

Fail b’neath, deceitful falsity triumph'nt!

"A Night Drive" ~ a poem written in high school

Dream 1 (A Night Drive)

Amidst the shadowy canopy, which

Is not natural, a starry dimlit

Melancholy, reminiscent of life’s

Shortcomings, bland of thought pervaded,

Though thick in ecstasy

Is bequeathed in emptiness so,

Lest the Cars instilled by above’s Chaos

Shame and torment it away;

I hold on to the swirling mass,

Which is the Milky Way—

my eyes!—

A man whose purple, pink haze grins

For the end that is nigh, laughing,

Uncaring to the remnants of his life,

Which by his Drive to quick pleasure

condemned, becomes slit and silenced,

Transfixed, like the dawn

Was to Apollo—only a dawn for darkness.

Falling deep the Stars grew, and they twinkled

into the haze, fizzing, exploding out

Sharpening, stabbing,

Was brighter with blackness than

The surrounding plain before—

my heart!—

Beware! Empty of focus

For the sudden revelation, which waxed

Onto the night by the

Steady beat that ceased, a death

That was yet alive.

Amidst the bright canopy, whose rays

Shown through the leaves, a magical well-lit

Floor, adorned in life’s ending

Gift, chalk in a passionate cry ill

Lest the burden lift

Doomed he is.

Dust and ail interming’—

Sitting with his head faced up, watching

The strings, which are our souls, on the rim, plucked. 

Remembering the now dust fragments

That is the earth, surely, whilst he remains above,

Becoming death.

Insanity ~ a poem written in high school

Every day I see you my dearest Love;

I see you in the sky; and you see me.

Dear, you watch me and think like a dove,

Is that a bear? Or perhaps a large tree?

Every day I see you my dearest Love;

Did you know you’re my angel from up above?

Today your holiness will smile at my head;

What can I say? You made me go insane so I must:

I will walk the earth facing my dread,

And blow my brains, until everything is just!

I am now beautiful like the rest, I am now true!

Don’t feel sorry my dove; I have always loved you.