My Face.. :]

Self Inflicted

[journalistically]

Put your hand in mine,

We could be endless as time,

Togetherness,

Devine.

And together.

We’d fly.

Through a fairy’s dream,

With sparkling wings,

Butterflies taking hold,

Carrying our hearts away,

Until we float,

In these skies of gold.

There is a vastness,

An endless sea of happiness,

Close your eyes and listen,

Whispering lullabies in the distance.

Forever,

Dancing children,

And,

Each turning chapter,

In echoes of laughter,

A forest of evergreen,

Where we are always,

And everything.

Is eternity’s comforting peace.

~ g3o r.

[journalistically]

Who am I to question,

The ripples of my reflection,

How I am brought to life,

The water sprite,

Against these rays of light,

I have caught my own eyes,

So many waves inside.

How in my smallness; simple,

Grasping at my likeness,

Landing on this earth,

Tell me.

Are there others like this.

Do they to,

Love and tremble.

Do they build up castles,

In tears watch as they disassemble,

Watching the entirety of the universe,

From beside this dreary window.

Holding the warmth of this world always,

Sitting alone writing my words in hallways.

And who am I.

Who had no choice to live,

To then refuse to die.

What significance,

When the smallness of my hands could no longer hold this innocence.

To question and set aside my indifference.

Knowing no one’s listening.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

Kiss you infinitely,

The ever expansive beauty,

Of simplicity.

On this tree with our names engraved in,

I had written your name,

I sat there alone.

Waiting.

Sometimes.

Even often.

My thoughts would run to you,

I was lost,

And.

Waiting.

I could hear your voice,

Draw you to life,

And.

Drown out the noise.

Waiting.

With every thought,

And every thing turned the day,

Day dreams are eternal,

Slowly the tree began to age.

Standing strong,

Our names engraved.

Our childhood soon fades.

Drifting into older age.

Holding hands we turn the page.

Our dancing séance carrying torches in caves,

I filled these walls with poems,

With songs,

With love and rage.

And mostly time,

As I wait.

Geo R.

[journalistically]

And from where,

This feeling had derived.

All that was dead inside,

Had somehow come to know this life.

In this ocean of the mind,

Holding fast to this hearts anchor,

Till these waters calm,

Subside.

I am afraid,

Each crashing of the waves,

Forever a runaway,

Hopping I’ll catch the sun,

Someday,

Changed.

And,

What I feel,

I can not give a name,

Trying to formulate,

What’s so innate,

The ever so familiar,

Trying to escape.

Being captured.

From love,

From hate.

Breathing the new,

Somehow vintage,

Each day the same,

Indifferent.

Is it me,

Who’s eyes refuse to see,

Who will not make believe,

This fantasy,

This tragedy.

Of happiness.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

And I have built for you,

This apparatus,

In hopes you find reprieve from sadness,

In hopes you will release yourself from this decent to madness,

To find yourself again, in peaceful gardens planted.

So well crafted and put together,

All of time in your hands,

In these gears and levers.

And if you leave,

I hope you do return,

With greater faith,

And lessons learned,

In this timelessness,

I can’t explain,

That with this light,

You do not stop the rain,

That all of your actions,

Would bring you to me again.

This paper.

And pen.

How I have made time bend.

Knowing from the beginning.

How nothing truly ends.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

All of these things,

I’m lifting you up ,

In my thoughts I have wings,

Holding you fondly,

In these clouds,

In dreams.

Overtaken,

By this smallness,

The calmest of streams,

Rooted by your bedside.

A lullaby crafted and folded,

Tightened at the seams,

To carry us onward.

How I had held you,

In my mind,

So ageless.

The stories you could tell,

How I wished to turn back the pages,

In my volumes left nameless.

Holding your memory,

In hopes you remember me,

Geo R.

[journalistically]

I have known,

A life and its brevity,

Given my all,

All that is left of me.

This smallness of particles,

So much a part of you,

To feel so weightless,

In the vacancy of faces,

I swallowed the ocean,

To feel something

If able,

Placing the sand through my hands,

The barren and tranquil,

There I stood listening to the silence of time,

I did not hold back,

To this peace,

To this prison,

Confined to the mind.

And only.

To find.

All my fears gathered together,

They thundered,

Banded in this endeavor,

I welcomed them in,

With caress,

With wonder.

And we are so alike.

This darkness and light.

How I had lived once.

How I had known a life.

So often I sit and I write:

How it had passed,

Subtle and still,

We are the children’s harvest,

In minds,

In the field’s.

Watered and tilled,

From our eyes it rained down,

Till - we could not see,

Till - we could not feel.

The happiness.

Of oblivion.

The fervor

Of experience.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

Our time in the sun,

Knowing the warmth of this moment can never be undone,

And can I be,

Left in its rays,

This golden amber,

In unaware of its power,

Unaware each giving of the day,

Lighting everything I fear,

In it’s harbor,

Ive waited here.

Knowing that some day ill cross,

Of our time in the moon,

This everglade,

In this soft lights forever shade,

To fill the emptiness of all I have consumed,

And still room,

For all,

And more,

In the stillness of my thoughts,

I lay here,

In this glow,

On this floor.

Till I myself glisten,

My time in this hour,

I stop, just listen.

Watching the sun set,

In this haze turned crimson.

-g3o R.

[journalistically]

And could you find,

This refrain,

Sublime,

Listening to the trickling of the rain,

From the broken windows of my mind.

In this cold air a stillness,

Framing frailty,

The subtle brevity,

Stepping back,

In my mind.

Carefully.

Could almost see my self,

This shadow of introspection,

A caricature,

With such allure.

Was so unsure,

Of my own reflection.

And we.

So free,

To color the fields and the flowers,

In grassy hills,

Contemplating secrets of the cosmos.

For days, for hour’s.

To take emptiness.

And drink of its vase,

Unyielding in our desire for happiness,

A gradualness.

Just a glance.

A taste.

Of something more.

And could you find.

This reason, in my refrain.

In my minds eye.

I’ve so often escaped.

Geo Rodriguez.

[journalistically]

More than you will ever know,

I Could not number,

These numbers unknown.

These winding paths,

These Endless roads.

Could not find you.

And so I chose,

To lose myself,

To walk alone.

Where sorrows sow,

In heaps, they grow,

In depths,

such troves.

Of love lost,

In tiny woven cloves.

The empty homes,

I wear the clothes,

Of lives that we’re not.

My small allotment of dreams and hopes.

And it’s more.

So much more.

Then you will even know.

Holding you close,

My ever cherished ghost,

Hollowed in my songs and prose.

You touched my heart,

And I am forever froze,

In the fervency of this desire

Cold.

More.

Than you will ever know.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

And here in,

I have comprised,

This sea bed of frailty’s,

Where my sin has come to lay in wait,

And die.

With such heavy eyes,

I have fought against,

The good of all intents.

The good of all that’s spent.

To forge,

In my defense,

The heaviness of armor,

To give in.

To repent.

Have I slept,

While the masses unkept,

Taken away by this brevity of life,

Of this eternity,

In death.

What of time,

If but obscurity,

The weathering of faith,

Against all uncertainty.

For surely.

This unclean thing,

In contemplation of purity,

Grasping for understanding.

Of this feeling.

If just in wording.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

That something wonderful,

Would appear,

The ever abundance,

Of all that is unclear.

I will give you my voice,

If you would lend me your ear,

Bring to life,

In this peculiar,

Vernacular.

I wanted something to feel,

But I can’t.

Rembrandt,

A painter with no hands,

The inexpressive,

Silence of this life’s questions.

Sensitive to light,

In my darkest.

Where I am chambered,

To all these desires,

That go against my nature.

What would you wager,

To ourselves.

A stranger.

Through it all,

In vain,

We labored.

I have hoped for,

All,

And all the more,

A winding corridor,

This enticing paramour,

This rising tide,

Where I reside,

Upon its ever expanding shore.

Believing.

That something wonderful.

Would appear.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

Words are too much,

But sometimes,

Nearly often,

In knowing that I,

Ever abide,

In this place,

I’ve runaway,

To hide,

From me.

Can you see,

The intricacies,

Of simpler things,

That I have contrived.

Not always,

Yet so very often,

In this secluded clouded place,

Fortified my heart behind this case,

I will not let love in,

This abandoned hollowed inn,

But,

Not always.

Though often.

Could the world,

Ever hope to find,

A paradigm,

To lift the mind,

Of evergreens.

Of ever growing vines,

To help me escape,

In knowing.

We have not moved,

But all have loved in place.

Not having left our marks,

But only a smallness,

Only a trace.

Not often.

And sometimes.

Nearly often.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

And I will find,

What lyes behind,

The heart and mind,

So often inclined:

That I am alone,

In this endeavor,

Unable to grasp,

A fraction of my forever,

If ever,

Fully awakened,

To this truth,

Frightened,

Naked.

In knowing,

I found a road,

To lead me home,

The sweetness of,

This fullness in love,

Vividness,

Colored in with a kiss.

The not so tranquillity,

Of my sinfulness’s in all its fertility,

Knowing I’ve found it,

Only when it’s leaving me.

-Geo R.

[journalistically]

And I felt,

This emptiness,

The ever atmospheric,

With my heart standing still,

Often.

I hear it.

As if a stillness,

Of waters glistening,

How love was bountiful,

And in my mind,

We traveled,

Escaping realities,

In my room often,

Drifting through galaxies.

And I would go anywhere,

That wasn’t here,

The absolute of this small infinite,

But it’s only time,

I have it all sifted,

Through the hours of this glass,

Slowly trickling.

Tell me how,

To be here now,

When this present,

So disavowed,

When it has past,

Becomes so loud.

And I,

Feed.

This emptiness.

This strange heaviness,

Calling.

Often.

I hear it.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

Till the sun has dried.

Holding onto the last of its light.

Always believed it would last,

Holding fast,

That we’d never see the night.

Though.

Hours past.

Through my windows.

Seeing the world through this pain.

Is anything real.

Tell me where to go.

Tell me how to feel.

The numbness of it all.

Just wanting oneness; small.

And I,

Eye and eye,

With the sun,

Reading each others mind,

What lies behind,

These aging lines,

Then,

With all clarity,

My words,

Carefully:

Nothing so warm,

This light that I am bathed in,

And,

It’s okay,

Someday we’ll fly away,

Where all these feelings far, will fade.

All of your likeness,

Growing indifferent in brightness,

Knowing.

It’s hard to feel these things.

Knowing you are the sun.

- Geo R

[journalistically]

In hopes,

That we too,

Might be consumed,

The fullness of our love,

In long corridors,

Unfolding,

In bloom.

That we might continue,

In the scarcity of this timid blossom,

A love remembered,

Though.

Only fragmented echos; forgotten.

There is a fragrance,

This scent a gradualness of our time,

In this warmth we fade into radiance,

Till there was darkness,

Of caves,

Of caves within.

This cloak that I had worn about,

A garment,

That told stories,

Of the old world.

Of love,

Alone in his house.

For all those,

Who saw hope,

Open.

Then close.

Waiting.

To be consumed.

- Geo Rodriguez