PureVolume

Existing without Forme

Existing without Forme

by: Roger Rafael Romero

We are love

the embodiment, the friction, the beauty

the movements inconsequential

the spring life versus tremors of winter

neither the wiser

forever at peace whilst your heart still races

perfection at its best

tomorrow is no tomorrow, just a longer today

trees die with their fruit, but we live on

because...

WE ARE LOVE

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A Neo-Western Tragedy

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A Neo-Western Tragedy

by Roger Rafael Romero

Screams of Hearts

Tearing out the ears of innocence

One by One, lost senses

Cry out to be found

Dearest Athena, show me your Fruits

As Ares breaks my Joys below

The snow covered December

Grounds, spinning ‘round

Although streams to dandelions to willows alike

Make up subconscious lies,

Truth is in the fine print,

The Texts a mystery apart

So bring up your sword

And I will lower my shield

For I am Your prisoner

In Your twisted game of Love

I now have battle scars

Puzzling me forever as to where they have gone

Are they alone?

Are they forever?

I ran instead of Charged

And was thinking when I should have thought,

The poison became my own

Yet gives me no further solace

The climax forbids my re-entry

And cackles at my fortitude

While leaving an Iris in my hand

Knowing from whom Happiness turns

Look at the seven wonders

And at the excluded eighth,

Ostracized not for beauty and majesty,

But because love simply isn’t

The chorus offers me hope in patience,

But, like us, has its own fatal flaw

It believed in a love immortal

I believed in words inconsequential

She believed in the western wind

And Love believed in its black poison

No, subtract the belief,

For what love believed became a Certainty

Because our only incongruous line remaining

Shattered long ago into the screams

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Oh, Trickster

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Oh, Trickster

By Roger Rafael Romero

Trickster

Do You believe in magic?

Or do You, brilliant sir, fail to distinguish

Between your vanity and his sanctity?

A stage is lit, the Camera legitimate,

While he sing-screams and laughs at

Trite gestures that draw him closer

And closer and closer and farther

From this almost senile image

To a later beautiful cadenza,

Spewing sound only because an orchestra

Will deem it just to strike down, not up,

The timid ladder of heaven’s bosom,

Oh, wait, that was a Handyman?

IMPOSSIBLE!!!

How? When? With…?

You, who are so humble (though not),

Discover Nature’s essence to be so

Deceptive as yours, but without a price

To soon come in a climax

And a presence with which

You, and only you, stand tall,

Showing him all of your Greatness, Power, and sadly, Ignorance,

Because your act will work! How? When? With…?

You, oh great magician of late,

Will never reveal your secret,

But will instead take one final bow

With daggers behind you, Trickster

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