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What is this world we created?

Born out of shadows and pain it grows

every word planted in a fruitless garden

where seeds wither and harden

and bear no witness to our design.

Fall turns to winter in emotions confined

to the coldness of a feeling that froze

in a couple of verses with no ending found

to a story abandoned as new seeds find

its way in a new spring full of dreams.

But to every winter we are bound

playing in summer with new schemes

not meant to last, for every verse dictated

comes to exist as a reminder of what seems

a life destined to the winter we created.


― “Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don’t have the strength to fight it.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Cost of Dreaming


Cost of Dreaming


You are best wrapped in pain and sadness

feeding the wolves of solace-

Liquefied comfort satisfy your madness

and self-imposed alienation

for a moment, pouring emotions

into a half-empty glass.

But there is no other way to this impasse

thus bittersweet damnation.

Another night lost in stagnation

loving fiercely what you had before

and lost,

when impervious to the cost

you wrap yourself in pain and sadness-






One last look, the fading of dreams come morning

dissipates in the light where shadows forming

at night bring fears- not enough time to learn

the meaning, things past, holding on to the yearn

of new love, and a touch, and a kiss, and goodbyes.

One last look, understanding the truth behind lies

reflected an image conceived in the darkness

for in blindness, closed eyes can bring sharpness

to the heart, to the mind of a tired old soul.

Once was young, now I’m old, sometimes cold

wraps the heart stripping hope for new day

when my dreams slowly fade and won’t stay.

One last look, for the love always hide in plain sight

blindness set on a distance, nights incite,

lost in dreams dissipating in light.







Another year approaching and I’m afraid-

Days of holy blown by winter air

laughter and love, hands holding together

trees made to dress in colors of gold and reds

to shelter boxes wrapped with care.

But winter brings not only snow

it brings loneliness which spreads

across my bones, another year

to add more wrinkles and push me closer

to where the road no longer shows.

I’ll raise my glass with every time

and smile and cheers!

While deep inside I’ll be alone

without a box wrapped with such care

and no one there

to calm my fears

and to call mine.








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

A Story


A Story


Not a well written story mine has been

full of exclamations in every twist or turn

all the missing words I have never seen

for every moment lost in the past of time

and places marked along so I may return

not a well written one this story of mine.


Just a plain beginning with no fading light

to a soothing tune that would hold attention

not the rolling drums to mark with delight

the passing of years with music and wine

just the fading letters of my own pretension

and a poorly written this story of mine.


In the middle of all if we can’t stay awake

we rush to the end as the letters get blurred

with the lack of a twirl as I dance and I fake

all the ventures lived in the lines I can’t find,

existing in dreams with my soul slowly stirred

not at all written down in this story of mine.


H.O. 12/30/14