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Raffael PonceValencia Poems
Visage of Sacrifice
Weary eyes and heavy looks. Breath taken aback and told he's aging. Vicarious youth, envying the fresh and spritely. Neck turned by the wandering mind of the vagabond owner.
Armor Of The Night-Time
Submersed in a sleet of white snow severed by streaks of black shadows, I rest my head in darkness.
Paso Por Paso
Paso por paso, he caminado entre las olas de el tiempo. Paso por paso, la sombra angélica me guía hacia las estrellas.
Deemed Sane, Says He
A wash of hopelessness and solemnity rains over him, a fresh-fallen layer of sickly darkened snow. Lashes of fabric, heavy with disappointment pull towards feet, of which have been morphed together, bound by splitting, earth-shattering longing. .
Single File, March.1x1
There was a family of ants. Marching single file to the beat of the creamy rock.
A Moment More
Ground Level. Model #A1181 Rated 16.5 Vdc Max., by a John Fischel.
Aqua De Vida
Por tus ojos he visto la fuente de vida, Y siempre beberé de ese mar, Hasta que no queda tan siquiera una gota.
Four Dimensional Outline
Trace me. That is all that is necessary. You know everything to fill it in. Every inkling of my being.
Bile. Slipping. Toxic spewage racing slowly down my throat thick like honey. Boiling in pools of sandy glass where eyes should be.
My Father's Hands
In his hands sometimes lays the snow. Often times he lets the flakes breathe upon the receiving warmth of his knuckles. They lay there for a second or two, They stare up into his eyes, and with a thankful silent nod; they melt away.
The Pyromaniac In The Library
Searching the banks of recollection, I find that I have nothing of value. Ideas plague biblically and roam reigning, but no true remembrance of happiness.
The Nest Is Full
I walk through the domain of the ravenous wolf. Constantly looking over my shoulders. Treading like feathers in fire. Touching nothing around me.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Visage of Sacrifice
Weary eyes and heavy looks.
Breath taken aback and told he's aging.
Vicarious youth, envying the fresh and spritely.
Neck turned by the wandering mind of the vagabond owner.
Time taking its toll on his brow.
His eyes vexed, forever tortured by accurséd light where once bright,
Are now dim and faded,
Jaded and callous eyes,
Lathered on a persuaded visage of false joy.
A pyramid of lies.
All lies, told to keep his soul quieted.
Keeping his soul from jolting,
Jumping right out of his skin.
Sticking to jobs to ...