Category Archives: Poetry

Remember when we died?

Remember when we died?
Remember how we had no notion of being heroes back then
We just pulled up like horned giants and grabbed life by its rich fabrics
And just leaped?

Remember when we went digging in the trash and found gold?
We sprinkled it in the air and everything it touched was reborn
When we talked, we roared
When we roared, the elements stood still in awe

Remember when we finally fell to the mud
It wasn’t by the stones or bullets flying at us like the reaper’s scythe
Those only stripped away our fragile lies and exposed our golden engraved will
It was by the razors of friends, thrown like whirling nightmares,
That cut us and our dreams down to size

They said there’s no dignity in death
But we didn’t care when we spat at death,
Determined to rise as we kill death
We would fly away to become fiery birds of legend
To become rains of life, of love, of peace

Remember when we finally died
It wasn’t as glorious a as we thought it to be
We were just left there bleeding on the sidewalk
Like rabid dogs they hardly looked at us anymore

Come sip with me of the grand wines of the forgotten
For as they rub off our names from their history with spit
The stars will forever tell tales of what we did
We are not of this world, my brothers and sisters

We belong to the sky and we will never be brought down
And when the sun sets on our dreams,
Very few will remember when we died


Reminiscing with the griffin

I looked at the picture and could hardly recognize
A face staring back that I once knew
I soaked a beard and longer hair on the photo
But the bird just flew away
I saw distorted friends I knew very well
The rabbit, the green cat, the rainy afternoon
Smiling, frowning and sharing sweets

I sat with the griffin to smoke a pack
Reminiscing about the battles we won
But the wind blew dust in our eyes
And the rabbit could hardly jump anymore
The grey cat licked my face with a dry tongue
As an empty cigarette pack floated out to sea

I touched my toes and licked the falling rain
I painted bright to the unhappy picture, but he didn’t smile
He could not fly anymore, let alone take me away as before
I cuddle up in his flaky fleece, you’re beautiful to me
We’ll dine with the drying river, dance with the setting sun,
Tell tales to the young frogs who’ll thread them into songs