Do you remember the nights we spent filling each other up?

You, eating my sleep as a feast.

And me, filling with your exhaustion.

Draining and bursting.

Bite down on the flesh of my dreams one last time?

Let me dig my teeth into your late nights?

Swallow down your slumber as you inhale my evening repose.

I know you’re starving, love.

So am I.

All of my love,

your sleepless nights

There is stagnant, noiseless still.

It is a silent, internal chaos that I am barely managing to control.

I need to know what comes next.

I need to know if it was just a momentary dream turned reality.

I can’t find my next step.

I don’t know which map I’m trying to follow.

I don’t know if I’m trying to make a home of an island or take to the skies.

Am I flying or stalling.

I know that I’m falling.

Slipping.

Missing.

You and me.

Missing you.

Missing me.

But mostly just tripping.

Mostly, I’m missing.

Me.

Like mostly I’m missing.

Like mostly.

You make me miss you and me.

And is it the skies or is it the sea.

Some days I remember how I tattooed you across my lungs.

It’s then that I know why I can rarely breathe.

It’s then that I know the oxygen never hits my bloodstream.

Stops just short,

catching on your fingertips.

Burning and branding instead of filling and spilling.

It’s then that I remember how you’ll be choking me from inside, eternally.

Never letting me catch my breath.

Always just shy of full.

And now I breathe shallow,

just like you.

In the morning when the fireflies began to dance, the visions began to sing.

I looked at those photos that magicly move, some screams in advance begging for forgiveness, many rows of weird steel rhinos, and in the sky i saw flying iron eagles.

They gave us masks that scare us, glasses that anyone who puts them does not like the way it’s look, A package to the door today arrived, a box with a map, a dose, a route have been drawn.

They all follow a green star, there are no smiles, there are no songs just a radio that lies to us and news of the beautifull flower showing in other places.

When the rooster had already sung, with the fear of the mountain I turned aside my route that had gone, On top of the one that caresses the occupied sky, from there I can see everything that the birds sang, noisy and terrible songs of the iron eagles.

The gray and black brushes everywhere, and the provincial heat that seemed punishments to sin, since early they already missed the most dear looks, without their voices the others were lost.

Am I sad or happy that the sky was laughing? Or really the laughter of the green stars is that they came? In their hands came musical notes, which on their way who ever listened to them felt asleep in the streets.

At the moment everything dark then clear, some beautiful lines that crossed in the sky caressing , a beautiful flower on the horizon loomed, the perfect brightness a scene that everyone was amazed by.

For each finger the brightest flower turned, a bigger show was approaching, Her fragrance everyone loved, stroking the cheeks of fear fell in love, when its noisy introduction was over, the flower on the horizon had vanished.

The voice told me look up and follow the cloud, that at the end of these days with love of a flower everything is covered, and here in the cold where the seeds are born, with love I embrace, without the voice, without the faith, without the destroyed love.

When the fireflies slept overhead, I opened my eyes and saw the smile of the wind stop singing with the look of a nuclear love who hug us in the beautiful end of our love.

In bits and pieces, I shed

and in secrets, I bled 

I was born barren, 

a crone once told 

throwing darts at my loins 

we lit candles, heaven was,

after all, full of answers

a conviction of a mother, 

as usual, passed down

in a smooth conveyance 

and made a nest in my heart

I was seventeen when my womb

ate my first child, did I wonder why?

for months, I was woven 

in cords affliction, so that, 

even my second umbilical cord

was severed at conception 

and weighty woes kept amassing 

did I dwell too much on presentiments

wise words of a wizen weasel

formed a girdle around my heart

a dearth womb has thrice proven

and now I believe beyond doubt

that I am —barren!

I watched a man in a cage

Silence drove him to insanity

Hours upon hours he stood

Mindlessly gazing on the floor

He longs his freedom more

I watched a man in cage

Spewing phlegm against the door

Circles, circles, circles for hours

In that cage nothing matters

Expect going around in circles

To him everyday is the same

A day far, far away from life!

I have to ask, — is this all there is? Do we live a few years and then die and nothing more? Is the thought of God an empty creation by man born out of desperation?

Ultimately, when I look up at the night sky and contemplate how vast it is, I realize I am nothing in the scheme of things. When I see the beauty, and diversity of the world around me, knowing that everything comes from something; I know all things had to have a beginning.

I am a machine-tool builder by trade and here is what I do know: nothing creates itself. What I see is intelligent design all around me and this compels me to believe in a Creator. How I would choose to define that creator is a continuing journey and the road is long. The problem is — we are not born with a collective consciousness. We must start from scratch and begin the slow and arduous learning process, turning to those with more knowledge and experience. But progress in any endeavor involves taking the known and building on it. Are we still using flint spears? Growth involves seeking those with knowledge, acquiring, using, sifting and refining in a continuous forward progression. My quest for knowledge on this topic is far from over; yet my faith in a creator is unwavering, because of a simplistic truth bases on the expression, — “Creator.”