When did it visit me?
I really don't know when.
It came out of nowhere,
I feel that it's a sin.

Naked in the shower,
washing up clean.
I felt this little lump,
scared and unforeseen.

Feeling all alone,
I looked up to the sky.
Fingers locked together,
I asked the Lord, "Why?"

Now, I lay in silence,
while the tumor grows inside.
Putting up these walls,
all I do is cry.

Months have gone by,
with the chemo and the draws.
The sickness took my *******,
now that's the final straw.

It's been six months now,
I struggled for my life.
I beat the **** cancer.
I AM HAPPY, I WILL SURVIVE!!

I've been lounging in the sweater
I wear it even when I know I'll be with
People that would provide their own sweaters.
But nothing can warm me like the sweater.
I wear it year round, despite the weather.
I once let another's fingers unzip the sweater
and the next moment I was across the room.
I apologized of course, but those fingers
Never did touch me again..

I know why people are tied to objects
I know why sweaters are so sentimental
The person whose comfort I seek
Could not have picked better torture
Than the torture of leaving me the sweater.
I broke the sweater wearer,
But now the sweater will break me.

I was watching
a special on Joan Rivers
on Netflix.
I like to change my own mind
on a person.. And I did.
In one scene she was crying
because she missed a friend
that had been there since the
beginning.
She said,
I miss having someone to say
do you remember to?!
and he was the last link to
my old life, my memories.
Now, it's as though all of that
means nothing.
Personally,
I have only connected to
words like that while reading
Bukowski,
but I wanted to cry with her
because that is exactly how I
feel.
I have no one left to
reminisce with,
who has been through the same
things with me.

And it makes me sad to know that Joan Rivers died without a single friend to reminisce her life.
And it makes me even more sad to know that I will die the exact same way.

I sought Him in temples where anthems swell
Stained glass windows and polished sermons suave;
Yet here I knew He did not dwell,
While poor child of dust creeps to his grave.

I sought Him in churches rustic and plain
Eager to drown my heartfelt sorrow,
These mockery so futile and vain
As I searched for a brighter morrow.

In meadow alone, a breeze touched my face
Whispering of days bygone, yet still dear
When life flowed at a leisurely pace
And I felt His presence - O! so near!

Bittersweet weeping of the mourning dove
Awakens me to sad pleading eyes
Shattering my heart with vials of love.
Forsaken man and beast hold God's disguise.

I see Him in each rippling blade of grass
When dew of morn glistens with His tears.
In moaning of wind I hear Him pass
Through aromatic pines and lose all fears.

God does not dwell in temples made with hand,
But speaks to us through each soughing pine.
Proud wealthiest mansions o'er all the land
Mocked by His majestic Hand divine.





**~Hilda~

Poetry give a voice to a prison inmate
he show emotions
Poetry is evolution of man capabilities
to see beyond the clouds
Poetry is art with kaleidoscope images
With the eyes
    of an double-edge sword
That dug deeper into ones soul
Poetry is a purge for a dark soul
That clog ones’ artery
Poetry is fighting words against
An ill manner society
Poetry is an untimely wave
It never ceases to amaze us

Poetry is a stage plays: plays out
and became a big part in the court room drama
While the defense lawyers demonstrated
Their incompetence in many ways
If the gloves don't fit,
you must acquit.

Poetry is the flags we wave during
An uprising, as we protest again Apartheid
Poetry is the language that every poet
Want to translate into categories
Poetry is a threat to the man in higher power
As he sit upon his thrones

Poetry is the pacifier to a baby
As the lullabies and nursery rhyme soothe him to sleep
Poetry is the key to a romance
as the relationship loses its flavor
Poetry is an sale pitch
Its sell itself throughout history
Poetry is an eye opener it can break you
Or make you repeat tongue twisting words
Poetry is proverbs, Psalms and Eulogies
As it release ones souls into the unknown

Poetry is the key that bring us together
As we fall apart
Poetry is what held the slaves together
Through a time of injustice
Poetry is looking at the sun, the moon
And the stars, as we say silly words
“How lovely the moon looks tonight”
If only I could touch the stars, I  would place one
In your lovely hair as we gaze into each other eyes.

Poetry is the recall of a poet bad romance
That gone sour
Poetry is the seasons of poems as it rolls with
The elements of the weather
Poetry is the voice of a mute poet
Who perform in silence while the
audience read his mind


The Poem was inspired by Emilio Villa