It's hard to let go

I think once you read this one, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. The real question is, who has the harder time letting go?

Untitled

A young man rises from his bed to find he is alone.

The one that he loved so much has left him by fate.

He realizes that he must face this world alone but fears his lost love does not understand.

He opens his French doors

to the second floor balcony in his funeral clothes and starts to sing.

"Jamas senti en el alma tanto amor

Y nadie mas que tu, me amo

Por ti rei y llore, renaci tambien"

The sunset sky starts to turn from a bright orange to a soft gray.

There is a storm coming. Though he can hear the thunder

in the distance, he continues to sing.

"Lo que tuve di, por tenerte aqui

Ya se que despedirnos es mejor

Sufriendo pagare mi error

Ya nada sera igual, lo tengo que aceptar

Ya hallar la fuerza en mi para este adios"

He continues to sing and raises his head to the sky to sing to God.

He explains that he has accepted this turn of fate,

but he does not know why his love's soul would stay to hurt him.

He begs for God to make it understand. Though rain starts to fall, he continues to sing.

"Alejate, no puedo mas

Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras

Olvidate de mi

Y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad

Alejate, ya dime adios

Y me resignare a seguir sin tu calor

Y jamas entedere que fue lo que paso

Si nada puedo hacer, alejate"

Now, he closes his eyes to hold back what is coming. He can feel

his love holding him once again. He begs for peace,

but the ghost of love will never leave him. He tries to explain

that he will move on in pain, but the ghost must leave him.

In his heart, he begs for serenity, and still he sings.

"No voy a arrepentirme del ayer

Amando te hise mujer

Por el amor aquel, por serte siempre fiel

Hoy tengo que ser fuerte y aprender"

He falls to his knees and begins to cry. He can't turn around to see

the ghost of his love. He cries that she must live so that others

may know of the love they shared together. He takes no

regrets in their love. He cries harder, and still he sings.

"Alejate, no puedo mas

Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras

Olvidate de mi

Y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad

Alejate, ya dime adios

Y me resignara seguir sin tu calor

Y jamas entedere que fue lo que paso

Si nada puedo hacer, alejate"

By now, the rain is falling harder and the lightning flashes brighter

then the sun during the day on the small town. The storm

shows the same rage that is in his heart. Once again,

the ghostbegs for him to turn and look, but he knows not to. He turns

his heart to stone and understands that he has said "good-bye". He understands that he

must live with her smell on his mind and the warmth of his love's skin far from him. Though

the wind and rain make him cold and shiver, he continues to sing.

"Alejate, no puedo mas

Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras

Olvidate de mi

Y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad

Alejate, ya dime adios

Y me resignara seguir sin tu calor

Y jamas entedere que fue lo que paso

Si nada puedo hacer, alejate"

The thunder and lightning have passed. Now all that's left is rain. But it is not rain. It is the

tears of a thousand angels crying with him. They cry because they can not tell him that his love is with them and loves him very much. The ghost is a gift from the angels to bring him peace, but he does not understand. His face marked by a trail of tears, he begs one more

time to God and to the ghost to let him cry the rest of his days. God listens to him and

takes the ghost from the room. The angels cry harder knowing the gift has been taken.

With his last strength, he turns to see the ghost is gone. His trial of pain is over. The last

person to cry is is angelic love. He lifts his head back to the sky, and says. "I love you, too."

Until next time.

For every holiday...

there is a ghost.

I don't make it a habit to do very many seasonal poems. I'm the kind of person who generally will just take the mood of the moment and create the story that wants to flow on its own. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I've have a few bad poems here and there where I've had to step back and wonder, "What the hell were you thinking, Archy?"

Truth is, writing is much like science. We experiment as much as we can before we find the right way of doing something. Only difference is that as writer we're so fickle that we know when it's best for us to stop and realize that it's not going to get any better. But we're determined to milk that idea for all that it's worth.

There is one thing I know I don't like writing about, though. Ghosts. I wrote a poem a while back about a man who lost his bride very recently in his life and started singing to the heavens in honor of her and also to beg her spirit to leave him alone. That was a bloody tear-jerker. I based it off of a Josh Groban song called "Alejate", where he sings about letting someone go. I'll have to post it sometime. Maybe I will in this blog-o-mania that's about to happen.

If this opening essay isn't making much sense, it would be because I didn't wake up not too long ago. I've been meaning to post these blogs for a really long time, but never got around to it. Last night a poem came out that was just too good to let it get by the holiday and never be read. This one is for everyone who has been waiting for the next poem.

Talking to the Wind

Quietly resting my mind

just to past the time

from a restless day

Listening to the sounds

of the cardinals and blue jays

singing in the trees

and hiding in the bushes.

- Their song doesn't compare to your voice

I lay on the crisp grass

with one hand behind my head

and lift my eyes to the clouds above

creating creatures with my mind.

There won't me much time

to do this as I always have

- No, there will be

The days of the autumn sun

will soon be gone

and left in it's place

is the winter moon

- Frozen tears are coming

I close my eyesand let my mind drift

into a silent reverie filled with your image

- Will you always dream of me?

A period of silence

created by fate

that decided that my destiny

was to wander this earth

questioning my purpose

without you here to help me

- The footsteps you feel beside you are mine

Heaven forbids me

to shed anymore tears

- Why cry when I am here next to you?

I've done all my mourning

and now is the time of rejuvenation

for you and I

- You will not grow without me

While I will never understand it;

the sensation of you next to me lingers;

it haunts me like a bad dream

- It is a curse we shall endure together

Somehow, I can still hear your voice

flowing in the breeze

through the trees

that blows against my face

making sure I can hear every word

- You will never forget me

I open my eyes again

and watch and the evening eye

cast its light on me

though the sun overcomes the world

- I'm there with you

I stretch my hand to the sky

in a strange hope

that you might touch me once more

- Heaven isn't so far to touch

I laugh at my innocence

and how gullible I must seem

to chase shadows and ghosts
- All will make sense soon
After all,destiny has separated us

for a reason.

We will have our time again.

-Only I know when

Only time will tell.

-Tonight.

Until next time.

No matter how hard you try...

you can never forget the things you love the most.

It's been a while since I've written here. A few of my new readers have joked with me on my MSN messenger asking me if I've not gotten "the urge". I remember a while back how much I used to hate that feeling in the middle of the night. Now I have it in the middle of the day also. It feels like the guilt that you've not done something you were meant to do. Now it's 12:04 A.M. and I'm sitting at my computer trying to fill in the words in this blog that have been in my head, gathering enough force to find a way out through my fingers. They're winning now.

My blog has gotten some attention since I started actively writing it again. My poetry seems to connect with a lot of people. That's the way it should be. That's the way everything thing you read should effect you. It's the essence of the writer that's in the work he's just created that should fill your heart and mind with something you can't quite put your finger on, but you know it's there. I love doing that to people.

I've been noticeably different these past few days. People I talk to can just sense it from me. I know what's wrong with me, but I'm trying my best to keep myself from remembering what it is that's bothering me. I have a tendancy to want to go back to the past and thinking that there is a chance to go back in time and change a few things. I guess the fact that I've written fantasy most of my life, I'm starting to think that some of the things I've created are actually real.

I can't say that my life has been perfect. Hell, no one can. Most people would give up a whole bunch of things in their life to have a perfect moment for once in their lives. I didn't have to give up more than money to get mine. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, I'll try my best to tell you what The Perfect Moment feels like....

The Perfect Moment

Picture if you will
a night of crisp air
and only the light
of the full moon
to make you foolish.

You stand in the darkness
and look up at the jewel in the sky
how it shines just for you
tonight.

Your mind wanders to that spot,
that place,
that moment,
where fate,
in all is vast mystery,
showed you it was truely real

And then the moon
it's blurred
by a tear
caused by a smile

A smile so strong
the stars shine brighter
the wind softly blows
and your mind plays
the perfect song
to help you remember
that one moment.

It's there
it's that point in time
you hadn't even known
you were waiting for all your life.

It's that first breath,
that first hug,
that first smile,
that first anything
that never was more real
than at that moment.

That point
where if you were asked
you wouldn't be able to tell
what was happening around you.

Cloaked in the moonlight
you hold onto that moment
for as long as you can
hoping that it will last a little longer

And then you blink
and just like that moment in time
it's gone.

That feeling,
that revery,
that ounce of hope
that there was a reason
you were meant to be here.

The moon
hidden by a cloud.

That experience
written over by time.

That moment
turned to memory.

And now
it's in the safest place you know...

Your heart.


And if you can remember something like that, then you know what it's like.

Until next time.

Taking a Breath

I took a step back earlier today as I was looking at my bookshelf. I have a habit of forgetting about the small paperback books I've got. Some of them are actually awesome. In searching through some of them, I found my own book. It's hard to believe that I spent three years of my life working on it and it ended up in the same place as the rest of the books I hold dear to me. On a shelf in my collection, forgotten about because it doesn't stand out like the rest.

It was so weird now to hold my own in my hand. To think that there are people who are holding the same thing that I am and it was something that I created. Absolute strangers are reading parts of my mind that I always told myself that I would never let anyone read. And now here I am. A poet. But even more so, a published author.

Peeling back the cover I found the first poem. It was one that I wrote during a lost period of my life when I was just realizing what I was trying to make myself to be. A writer. To this day, I can remember how this poem came to life. It was created between the lyrics of some Josh Groban song and something that I had always told a friend of mine to do; "When ever you're wondering about me, watch the moon. I will be watching it with you so you will never feel alone." In a way, it's something that's so true. At night, the moon is the focal point in everyone's life. Even when it's covered by clouds we know it's there. But if you stop and think about it and wonder for just a minute, remember this. There is someone in the world, maybe someone who loves you, is watching it with you. That sense that we are all alone will never enter your mind again.

To all of my new readers and new fans, this one is for you. Here is the poem that taught me to reach just far enough, but never more then what I should have.

Stars

Lost in a world of empty spaces.

The ruler of my world is the desert.

It never seems to care who enters its lands.

All it knows is that once you step in,

it's unlikely that you'll come out.

With my wings stretched out, I fell from Heaven

hoping that I could find something new for me.

But now in this decrepit land, never once used for the much,

I lay with my wings broken and my faith shattered.

Why did I have to dream of more then what I wanted?

Why did I give up eternal beauty for a land of solitude and dispare

which is built only for hermits.

Now I watch the clear nights with the sky full of stars.

They are the eyes of my brothers and sisters watching me.

The cold wind and dry air make me understand

they do not cry for me. Not a tear has fallen from the sky.

The sun rises and begins to burn me. Not with the heat

that it gives, but with the light that it brings.

It allows me to see myself. My shame. My broken wings.

I pray that the invisible flames may take my life and my soul,

but I am an archangel. We are cursed with immortality.

I will never die, but in my time here, I will wish many times

that I could.

And now the sand shall cover me. Breeze after breeze

shall bring parts of the land to cover me.

It will burn my skin, dry my eyes, and melt my spirit.

Soon the sand and I will be one and my wishes

will still not have passed.

My Lord of lords, I make one last prayer. Take my soul.

Take my soul and place it in the stars.

Not in the Heavens, but amongst the stars.

Make my star the color of mortal blood,

so that when they look up, they may not pray for me.

Oh Lord, I beg and plead that they will not pray for me.

My soul is not worthy of your grace.

Name my star, The Morning Star, for that is when my pain begins.

My real name is not worthy of a star in the beauty you have created.

Who shall look upon the sky,

and pray to see the star....

Lucifer?

Until next time.

Something new

I got the urge again last night. This time, I actually let my fingers to the talking and they decided that I was long overdue for a poem. I'm trying to move away from that particular style, but I find that it's the only way to keep a writer's craft from going down the drain. Poetry is slowly becoming a lost artform. I guess I kind of figured that out when my book was published. I never wrote it, though, to make money or to impress people. I did it mostly for the title of "published author". In my world, I would rather have proud titles that are hard to get, then the stuff that comes with them.

I created something last night that is rather different then previous poems that I have ever written. For some reason the word "there" just wanted to be the dominate force that was to drive this poem. So that was the way I let it run. It was interesting trying to figure out the different ways to use it. I'm pretty happy about the way it turned out. Enjoy.

One Word

Out there,
upon the lands I have now long forgotten
are the homes of those who have long forgotten me.

Up there,
In the distant place of unknown futures,
friendships, flames, and family
I left a part of me.

Over there,
Where the battle lines were drawn
and I left to fight on my own
as my allies became allied
to defeat me.

There,
where the quest for humility
for humanity
for history
was destroyed out of spite
because of one.

In there,
In the heart
of the creature who loves so much
to love
was hurt by love
by those he loved.

Down there,
On the green flowing grass
covered in snow
turned red by the blood
of his broken heart
a tear falls from his eye.

Up there,
he can see the stars in the sky
the clouds part for him to see the heavens
and he calls to the angels and begs
for the ears of a thousand angels
to grant him an answer to his prayer.

You there,
protectors of all mortals,
keepers of the peace who failed to see
the war that was brewing in the hearts
of those I once called my allies.

From there,
can you see how I suffer?
Can you see how I bleed?
Can you see how I mourn?

Were there,
times when you wondered
how far I would fall in love,
how deeply I would love,
what I would give up to keep my love,
before you would take it from me?

Is there
no justice for those like me,
from beings that call themselves divine
yet let there be causes for so much evil?

Was there
a plan for me to feel this empty,
this alone,
this unworthy of love's embrace
and love's humanity.

For there
can be no love for me
in this world
if I can never be loved
by angels.

Until next time.