Biography of Argentine Tango
Argentine Tango Poems
The desert is jealous of the clouds. Lonely below their shadow it awaits its one true love - the rain. It thirsts for its presence,
A Heart So Hollow
Oh how graced I must be to walk the hallowed halls of that thing you call a heart. A cold draft follows me out, for even the air is stale and needs an escape.
I gazed into Melancholy's mirror And found the more I reflected on it, The more it reflected on me Providing a perfect symmetry
Still, are you here? Still, it is I. Still, you have found me. Shrouded with the weight of your presence,
“Hold on” It rose, separating itself from the world it resented, The heat of anger filling its puffy cheeks. It was downcast and carried a shadow wherever it went,
Has Fate Forgotten?
Has fate forgotten? Has that unspoken promise forgotten to shake hands with time? Its perspicacious presence
Lady Of The Ocean
Toes curled in the grains of sand, The Lady of the Ocean Holds the power of the sea There, in her outstretched hand.
Dead By Morning
I should have known I could never fix your crooked smile. They don't make a Photoshop for ugly souls. You nailed into me thoughts and words at my weakest points, drilled into my fault lines. I shouldn't have given tools
Where Is The Passion? Where Is The Fight...
Where is the passion? Where is the fight? You once had a fire that burned bright through the night
Dance Of The Pines
It was the eve of the reckoning. The moon shone as a spotlight, Searching every pine for answers. They whispered secrets to the night,
I lay myself upon the hills of grass My brunette curls they wrap around the daisies Their faces lit by starlight, moon and fairies That dance out of my dreams in shoes of glass
Hope For The Lost Soul
The yellow smile of dawn has broken Over the land of shadows And every soul touched by the hallowed Voice of Heaven spoken
Fifth Avenue At Twilight
Across the moonlit painted skies The lonely windows weep And in their faces candles creep Much to the night's demise
A Heart So Hollow
Oh how graced I must be to walk the hallowed halls
of that thing you call a heart.
A cold draft follows me out, for even the air is stale
and needs an escape.
Who knew one could contain so deep a chasm in one's chest.
A canyon for the viewing of passerby.
So hollow, the rhythmic beating resounds in ears miles away.
A drum of warning, come no closer,
for you might fall in. In fact, you may never hit bottom.