Friday, April 14, 2017

a hint of winter




"a hint of winter"
a cold gray
     lingers
          at the edges
     of everywhere I look,
a hint of winter
     hangs on the air,
bringing with it
     a crisp freshness
that courses through my lungs,

as my eyes close
the cool air
     floats by and
my thoughts find you
     again
as you swirl and form
     from the endless waves
          of blacks and grays
               in my mind
and I see you,
     only for a moment
before I open my eyes
     again
and forget
     again
what your face looked like,

a life once lived
     now gone
to the infinite dark of time,

I see winter creeping in from the North,
     there's a hint of memory
on the cool air,
          reminiscent flashes
of you
          I so long to believe
were true
     however
I never know now,
     only remember
just enough
     to feel the desolate pull
of what once was
     with the mercy of the wind
hoping for another glimpse.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Empty Spaces



"Empty Spaces"
I still see you in every moment,
     in the doorway,
     in that empty corner,
     in empty spaces
          overlaid as memory,
all that remains are
     walls full of empty spots,
          just echos of a past no longer,
there was a lifetime worth of things
     not said
     between us,
our purpose that once meant so much
     no longer means much
     of anything now
          except as a ghostly relic of antiquity,
     just thoughts
     separated by time,
               a cesspool of lonesome questions,
I see you there
     still
     in front of the mirror
          fixing your hair,
and on the couch
     leaning into me,
I hear you in my thoughts
     as whispers
          slithering
     in from the edges of silence
     on the delicate tips of memory,
          bringing with it
               the icy chill of remembrance,
     so as only I remain
I feel solely the essence
     of your memory.
-Armando Torres

Monday, April 10, 2017

the creeping fear




"the creeping fear"
It's there all the time, the creeping fear,
     the hidden horrors deep within my own mind.
It is not the unknown I should fear
but the thoughts that creep in
from the depths of darkness.

With every moment I endure
I exist
     alongside
     the agonizing thoughts
     of my own design.
Slowly sliding further away.
It is ourselves we should fear
for we harbor the sweetest kinds of terrors.

My lies have become the truths
     I so desperately denied
as I shroud them over the hideousness of my life,
losing the delicate honesty of fear to shadow.

I exist only
     as a moment
     folded into infinity,
     forever captured
     beyond the fabric of comprehension
     and only as a reflection of lies,
a moment
     extending forever inward
          as I forget
          I too am just
          one of the many reflections,
     multiplying
the miseries of an existence
     that perhaps may not exist at all
     in a boundless abyss,
     void of any truths.
A relic of horror and antiquity,
     wrapped in nightmares
     and thrown into the fires.
However
     there's an echo that remains,
     beyond perception.
A lie that perhaps says
     I must endure.
A shadow that crawls as it watches, a hidden horror,
     salivating on my very torture,
     whispering the sweetest things from the deepest recesses
          of my mind,
          telling me I must endure.
A shadow that crawls in from the edges
     bringing with it
     the torments of memory,
          clouding all
          that was
          once me and forging
     a lie of agonizing truths,
     peeling away
     a fabric of reality
I once saw as myself and replacing it with misery.
-Armando Torres

Thursday, April 6, 2017

pray




"pray"
Awake again
in the middle of the night
with the soft glow of the television screen
spattered on her face, and nothing more,
She remembers again
as the silent night chill
creeps
into her small apartment again,
her eyes weary and open
are but
another reminder
of her dreary life, nothing more,
she holds on to the cold staleness of memory
only for them to exist as
more regrets
to rewind
over
for another countless time,
she searches for the strength
to keep hoping.
she prays.

Her tired eyes finally find
that slice of sleep she's been waiting for
and a familiar image waits in the darkness,
once more her eyes open,
she can't sleep,
she can only cry again,
she looks over to her tiny bed again
and she remembers
the way she felt
when she held her
in her arms,
the look of her tiny face and her tiny sounds,
her tiny mouth and little hands, her little smile and tiny breaths,
She can't move on
when all her being
is bound
by what happened,
hoping and praying
every night,
She did all she could
with all she had,
she prayed everyday
as she watched
her baby die,
she prayed everyday.
-Armando Torres