I will follow roads in my need for adventure

my thirst for new places to call home

traveling among strangers I will be alone

but the company of memories I wish to keep

and if non-believer with much faith a leap

I will take one day in such eager venture.


I am looking at less than five years before I stop working. I have been thinking of a trip along the west coast of South America all the way to Tierra del Fuego or the “End of the world” as they call it. Most likely it will be a road trip but won’t work any details until the previous year before my trip. Once this trip is completed I will decide on a place to call home. Dreams so far, but my desire for adventure seems to intensify as I get older.

H.O. 11/24/14





In my imaginary world

there are no walls to hold me in

nor emptiness or pain within

only freedom without end.

My imaginary world

has no limits to transcend

from sea to clouds

and beyond the stars

with sails secured by shrouds

formed in love and care.

In my imaginary world

adventures have no bars

to hold me in when dare

to fly away.

My imaginary world

is made of light as bright as day

brighter than the nearest star

with no place ever too far

if I decide to stay.


H.O. 11/19/14





I drifted away so far,

a distance reflected in words

rolling between my tongue,

feeling what loneliness holds

every time I drifted apart

when to go it felt so strong.


It seems so far away,

weak connections calling me

to return and become the part

left behind somewhere free,

but going back to my dismay

I cannot, too far I drifted apart.


H.O. 11/14/14




I left him somewhere among regrets and pain-

Sadness has a sweetness that attracts the soul

but creates blindness and there always rain,

sunshine is bright only when we are old

with a life of wisdom and without regrets.


I left him somewhere and where he forgets

getting stuck in memories watered by tears

when a second chance only twice he gets,

but the blindness sets among all the fears

and getting back from there

may not take him here.

H.O. 11/10/14

I was thinking about how we get stuck in our memories and past experiences. How sometimes we stay stuck in those memories, experiences or regrets and keep us from moving on and living life the way we want. We become two, with one stuck in the past while the other smiles and move on. Sometimes coming back fromn that place doesn’t necessarily brings us to a better one.


dried heart




What takes to create such beauty in the words I write

I weave the intensity of memories reserved for nights

when tears stain my pillow, no reason to cry

but the absence of a heartbeat in a world so bright

that stepping from shadows into the lights

cause permanent blindness every time I try.


Unsatisfied I travel roads occupied by many

searching for the same or the insane

if insanity travels similar roads and the line is fine

a transparency difficult to understand if any

when searching for meaning among the pain,

what’s left if we are lost and the blood leave a stain

in the dreams we form with the passing of time.


But to feel my dried up heart resuscitated from the ashes

left by past burning fires that now occupy my sleep

and keep me from dying in the midst of defeat,

if I can recover all the wonders as life rehashes

old stories and beautiful words would allow me to keep

and live with the intensity lacking in a dying heartbeat.


H.O. 11/5/14


This poem is about the lack of intense feelings in life, the moments where we search the past for the muse needed to compose the words. Desperately searching those feelings for our next fix as the ink dries up and the pages remain blank. Becoming stale and emotionally neutral is like dying without the benefits or heaven, if such exists.