david guerrero Poems

Still are the woods,
cold and white in the winter
and sad are the dreams, that dwell in their dying tinder.
All people, from far and close lands
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Time can never stand still nor wait,
It can neither be reversed or changed,
so do not sit in idle despair,
for sadly, your mistakes were made
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Oh love how far you reach
how far you'll go
how you would cross the weathered seas
and push through the lowest of lows
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To the vast ocean with it's mysterious, dark and deep depths
To the endless seas of sand, in which heavens great stars at night illuminate the land
To jungles green and lush and vibrant with life
Into the Forests of Death shall my love, never cease to thrive.
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Freed from my conscience but refusing to let it be seared. A consequence of an inadequate life lived in fear.
Feeling lost in time and praying that it would just cease, so I can once again breath and be released from this cage we call reality.
Cyphering through the Holy pages and reading nothing new. Only if these words weren't the truth; my guilt would be lifted and my emotions not split in two.
Apathy strained into my life, but found therapy in the night. A fallen angel left to die; his wings clipped, no longer able to fly.
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Skin and bone have forsaken me; born into misery, weaned on the sin of hypocrisy.
My own flesh has left me bare; nothing but fallacies, bred in the depths of society's despondency. Risen above its tyranny, but still found myself blind to its infidelity.
A moment of silence spent at my momentary, unvisited cemetery, where my body lies, only to be reunited with my
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Lost in space, floating on emptiness, a chemical inhaling and a portal into the six dimension
Crystallized, walking through the haze, the clouds have fallen from their heights
A professor fueling the fire with no heed, conjuring up a love, forgetting the remedy
Needing more, can't get enough, I'm falling apart, consumed by the desire of experiencing life,
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Moments are ever fleeting,
the years; quickly ceasing,
days in swift submission,
hours in a constant haste of diminution,
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The night sky opens and my dreams come alive,
Born from deep inside my conscience, and raised to lie, sometimes I just wish my imagination could live, and this reality would die.
From my head to my soles, I yearn to let go, and float on senses that only I can clutch, my head's full of pressure, and it needs an opening for these unscripted thoughts to rush.
Imagination fades and dreams get crushed, but so does everything else...
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As i stare in the mirror
i see Me
but who is he
who i call Me
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