Tag Archives: poetry

Anthony David

It seems I am at the end and the beginning, of what it is gone and what it is to come. 

For what may come, I can only dream it, wish it and either, wait for it or run to it. But it would be to run into nothingness.

My dreams come true, if only . . . A memory only or wishful thinking. Unrealistic, exactly, I know reality too well.

To be loved why does it seem that we are not to love ourselves too? To be loved why does it seem that we are to sacrifice our heart and soul?

To keep them, to keep myself then it is for me the endless death of ongoing existence. Or it could only be that I feel sad today and tomorrow he will be gone from my thoughts.

Gone forever, until I see him again or hear him, or maybe until I see a cat or hear the rain. I’ll  forget him until my next Sunday morning cup of coffee.

Or maybe tomorrow I’ll remember when I was hurt, or when I cried, or when I didn’t understand and this thoughts will push him out of my mind.

At the end and at the beginning as it is suppose to be. To make room for what it is to come some things need to be gone. 

Gone, but not gone, never or maybe always.

Message to the universe

I am in love with you.

Are you in love with me?

If you are, text me that you have Fuji apples.

Gray

In gray skies I dream my dreams,

Of love and loss, of days far gone.

In gray skies I feel the spirit,

Of a man so sad he is bound to laugh.

In gray skies a see a face,

Made of rain, warm bread and a calm smile.

In gray skies,

In rainy days,

A sunless earth full with life.

Todas las canciones

Todas las canciones me reuerdan a ti
Todas las letras me hablan de ti

In every song my silent soul
Screams in agony and love

De cada estrofa cuelga mi corazon,
Salvaje y libre que vive solamente por ti.

 

Dear you

Dear you in the darkness, dear you at the razors edge, dear you with the dying heart.

Hear me and head me, or maybe not. In calmness and stillness I draw the blood myself.

The blood that drips and drops and slithers through me and over me. Red, slippery, coppery.

Life so small, so bright so red . . . My heart beat taking me away.

I feel the death, I feel the sting, I feel the fear.

Blinding.

Blinding in the light, and darknes. I sit very still, waiting to die. But I don’t.

Dear darkmes, I can not feel your hand in my throat. Gasping for air as you tighten your grip.

I want the pain, I want the blood, I want the warmth of your self inside me.

Drip, drip, drip . . . Red and red and black mad sharp. How sharp? So sharp I won’t feel a thing.

But I will feel it. I am numb.

I slide the razor through my arm, a thin red line. A thin. Red line.

The pulse slowly, slowly and then. Them the warmth of death and Dear You, my darkness. My darkness with your tongue between my legs.