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Thursday, April 18, 2013

Ernest

Ernestly tell me,
how do you ride a bull
in these days of dying virtues?
When every boy is taught to be a girl,
and every girl is forgotten
in her sexuality.

A day
when we no longer make any noise,
a day of peace.
A day
when the structures around us
squeeze us into a shapeless form.

We are building men
who acquiesce to all,
tongues tied to every dime
they will ever make.

Bullfighters
inside a ring,
timidly holding their white cape,
reasoning with the beast.










Friday, April 12, 2013

Sunset


It is necessary to remember.... 
to remember the sorrows,
to remember the victories,
to remember the deceased...

In our short walk
through this world,
every single memory
confirms our existence.

They say that 
knowledge
is the only thing
that can’t be taken away from us:
rubbish.

I don’t know who they are,
but they are all unimportant:
the bankers, the judges, the royals,
hiding behind walls,
ears pressed against 
exquisite wallpapers
pretending desperately not to hear 
the footsteps approaching,
full of fears, full of despair
forged into majestic cufflinks. 

She will come for you,
she will come for me,
and this knowledge 
we ought not to remember.

Our memories
will only be preserved
by our imagination
in the buildings we leave behind;
the necessary windmills,
the parks, the bike paths,
a simple pencil.....
and let’s not forget
to plant a tree.                                                                                                           

Our legacy
is all the tangible and material;
not the love we once had,
not even the love in our hearts.
Love is the blessing,
a gift we must possess
to allow us to hold hands,
to walk on the beach,
to watch sunsets,
and not see ourselves
witnessing darkness come,
rehearsing the inevitable,
full of contentment, full of joy, full of life.