Gently I go

forgetting my tomorrows as yesterday is gone

allured by the brightness of today

and yet another day-

My heart beating fast at the approaching dawn,

No need to let go when everything is taken

and the only decision is to let go

not in eternal sleep but awaken.


H.O. 1/28/2015






I live for the moment and another one,

never more than once

when I have today and forget tomorrow

in a life not mine but just one I borrow.


I live for an instance and another one,

never more than once

when emotions feed a desire for living

in a life with time so much unforgiving.


I live for a minute and another one,

never more than once

life is but a minute in the scheme of time

and to live it longer would become a crime.

H.O. 1/26/15






When old and exhausted I pause to look back once more

a gesture of grace and acceptance of what was before

and no longer holds when letting go becomes easy to do

of everything left behind dismissing the what or the who.


And what roads will open up as I look ahead in my travel

with an open mind when new things and places unravel

and decisions made in history no longer feed me regrets

creating the twist and turns in a life that easy forgets.


What I leave behind doesn’t matter once I accept my fate

without the reflected shadows in the mirror that I hate

leaving behind all my shame of a life carelessly wasted

between the sweet and the sour that I willingly tasted.


Now I prepare my departure to the place where I belong

teaching the ones which I love to be right or to be wrong

and to embrace with their faith a life like mine before

when old and exhausted I pause to look back once more.


H.O. 1/23/15





Death comes in many ways and forms

a dwindling hope that numbs the soul

and every day becomes the same,

behind goodbyes or painful shame

in the aftermath of passing storms

with times gone in youth time stole.


Death comes and hides in forgotten faces

underneath the sheets of a lonely bed

and on empty walls with pictures gone

behind waking hours waiting for dawn

and on dusty pages of a story unread,

death comes and hides in so many places.


H.O. January 20, 2015






Un carajo de vida but mine to live

an understanding with a twisted tongue

or mixed lenguajes inside my head,

with mis voces resonating instead

lost in conflicting ideas y sueños hung

where nothing left for me to give,

with ángeles y bestias inside my head

and a fading god that won’t forgive,

y me quedé solo as I was misled

en un carajo de vida but mine to live.


H.O. 1/14/15