my sense of silence

"my sense of silence"

Upon this dark and dreary night

I hold a glass in hand 

with caramel colored liquor on ice

searching 

amongst a soft elegy 

of piano notes playing

for meaning 

inside my memories,

something that would tell me 

that all my mistakes 

I have made 

meant something other than 

just being alone 

with regret;

   that these scars 

   are going to matter 

   in some kind of way

   as I am dying,

My eyes gloss over

staring into oblivion 

as the darkness 

crawls in from the edges, 

I take another drink 

and venture deeper 

in search for meaning 

where there was none 

hoping I can create it 

by connecting things 

that were never relevant,

but alas,

there is only silence 

in response 

and shadows crawling 

on the walls,

only 

the stillness of the night 

answers back 

as I take another drink

staring into the void.

-Armando Torres

Unraveled Thread

"Unraveled Thread"

I can only hope 

that somewhere inside 

the fabric of time 

there exists some kind of line 

of cotton thread,

   An entangled twine 

   this line of thread 

   that I wish I was able 

to pull upon 

and unravel instead.

Considering my life 

are just patches of memories 

stitched together,

woven tightly by the strands 

of nature's fibers;

   I realize these delicate threads 

   are weaved throughout 

   reminiscent pieces of time

   into the tapestries of my existence,

pieces sewn together 

with elegant needlework 

holding tightly 

each soundless moment 

of my recollection;

Where they finally form 

my eclectic cloth 

of thoughts 

and experiences 

that I sometimes wish were not so 

in the ways that they happened 

   but are now part 

   of the tapestry 

of my many choices and regrets.

I can only hope there exists 

among the fabric of my reality 

within all its splendid designs 

of interwoven threads,

   a single line of silk or cotton string 

   I can reach out and pull upon 

   to unravel 

   this horrible dream of mine 

and rearrange 

this vision of cloth again.

Alas, however

untangling a tapestry 

of such tightly woven moments 

is sadly not like pulling on a line 

of cotton thread 

and is perhaps more like 

erasing thin lines from ink and pen.

In my somber retrospection 

I now realize,

I will only ever be able 

to reflect upon 

that which my mind can create 

and never really change

the delicate intricate woven 

needlework that sews together 

the patchwork of my life.

-Armando Torres