Scribbled symbols translated

by the impulses in my mind

into words impregnated

by the copulating emotions

borrowed whenever I can’t find

my own.

Ignorance with such naïve

creative notions

that words are owned

when in them

your life I see


and with every rhyme

I become a thief.


H.O. 4/29/15




Stuck in the limbo of things

lacking something

trying to fly without wings

I sleep… I sleep…

No morning to define

a new day

promises rusted

old lies… new lies..

Arms entrusted

to care… to stay…

I’ll be fine.


H.O. 4/15/15

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Slowly flowing between my fingers

without desperation letting it pass

for there is no price to pay at last

and the bitter taste only lingers

for a moment and then goes fast.


It is only a season without time

a ticktack of days like a dream

glued one by one into a scheme

of a borrowed life I call mine

as I flow to the end of the stream.


But the glue that holds me here

becomes light to guide my soul

while the flesh brittle and old

will turn to dust and disappear

the who I am will stand and hold.


H.O. 4/6/15