A hundred years we trifle

 


 

piercing through the night
is the everlasting veil of heaven
like the sun always here
observing.

i am just a man
without his coat of pride
amidst this rain of guilt.

My sins are labeled on my skin,
I suffer rotting flesh.

If only angels can feel my pain
there among the stars
they feel the love of God.

To us, all life is but a test
we last
enduring brief mortality.

How would they know what its like
surrounded
like the air, this intoxicating evil.

Alive I want to fight, and steal,
and take, and kill, and mock,
and drink this alcohol, and yet
hold on, to love above
the need for drugs in lungs
and veins and pupils red.

How would they know.

A single day of cold hunger.

A hundred years we trifle
before the doors of heaven.

A hundred years to learn
to love instead of hate
and give up evil ways.

Dear Lord, you know,
living is so difficult--
alone, we drop dead into a corner.

Our bones remain forever.

10.19.22

The Silence I call music

 


I don't know about you,
or the amount of pain you carry
or left,
all I know is how time grinds us equally
on our bones, this earth, our breathes
evaporating briefly
--and the hunger.

All I need to know is you are here
too very much alive with me
some time.

Maybe you are blind
but at least your heart is also troubled.

Maybe you are impaired,
but your mouth can speak of love.

Or hate.

It all matters what you crave.

In my time I learned to give up what I am,
all the things that took more of space
and gave others worry in the brain.

I learned to breathe the minutes.
I counted when you left me.
I record all things in my feelings.

More than sentimental pride, I gave up on life,
on trying to be more than I am.

I just sit now and enjoy the silence
upon the autumn leafs changing
hearing others walking.


10.09.2022

W E L C O M E

All Poems are original. Feel free to share or use this as a resource. You can't use for commercial means since these are already being used by me in official publications. You may use these in your commercial project, as long as its not the main thing being sold (i.e. in your movie, scripts, etc). You just can't sell the actual poem by itself. That's my job. For all other stuff, do what you want --Villanueva-Laghetto.

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He Made

 


I told my parents that
I want to give up on life.


That, there is nothing more for me to do
than to wander somewhere else
and die.

    Oh why do I have to break their hearts?


My brother called me on the weekday
inside prison.

He told me to keep my head up
because


Most things that I have now
are not even broken.

I'm just tired of this worry,
you know.


Stressing all day if I need this
perplexing over sickness
concerning work and money.

I told him I just finished
about six months of this insanity.


Isnt it about time that I woke up
and notice the dust of my skin
fading like the afternoon.

I said:
man, am I tired of repeating conversations
being in the center of every excuse
living only for the weekend.


Rather I become complete
without any part of myself holding on
to bills, and things of chains.

Rather I be free
of any earthly sentiment including
the delusion that one day Ill find peace.


There is no peace without God
and
all along
there has been no sign of God because
all along
I have shut my eyes and ears to faith
thinking
happiness is something I create.

The Lord rebukes me saying
his dying grace is mine
the moment I was made.


So concerning the world
and all those in hatred loathing on me,
how ironic would it be
to watch me smile and laugh and still give praise

 for every single thing.


-Villanueva

08.20.20

-

W E L C O M E

All Poems are original. Feel free to share or use this as a resource. You can't use for commercial means since these are already being u...