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.

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.