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Michael Guerra Poem
I can see you through your hell.
Heaven doth mock you until you spill.
Just like old friends,
Hand in hand,
We bled.
Tame the shrew,
Untouched by filth
And rob her as she shrills.
All the while,
I’m spiraling
A disease that makes everything unwell,
Smiling through the kinks,
You undyingly dwell.
What’s an angel to do
When no one can love you?
Why does it have to be this way?
Clouds pass thee hence,
Dark neighboring expense;
Why are you this way?
Master you will...
Pay me through your blood lead dense.
Does it weigh you down today?
You’ll find a perfect place to go
Where you can die.
Ash torn ember will be your grave.
Judgment hath remembered how far you’ve gone,
A distance,
Unwarily unsought,
Somberly carried;
It’s with one last message I leave you….
Suffer and weary.
.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2005
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Michael Guerra Poem
Words unbroken but on edge are afloat on the water like a creature undead.
Corpses smoke clover and when they spark, it's like old times again.
My friend, where have you been? Hell isn't so tough. You're not afraid.
You're on the mend, on the break, on your terms, just burning until there's
nothing left.
Eyes, soulless and benign, they follow my every move, my every wound.
Your hands cut me, sending me into chaotic ecstacy. Once you take hold,
You become my sin of cataclysmic eroticism of the soul.
Will it end, you and me? Angry, hot, I want you, but you take my words...
Neurotically, morbidly, we join one another in zombie-love,
a lifeless encounter to feel alive.
Sweetly, graying, you touch me with the embrace of decay.
Will we tear apart one another or just deplete? Oh,
You were worth a so tearing up our mortal whims,
our functionality.
The time we've spent together has no title or perspective.
It's unbeknownst to a truth, a cause, a loosely based name.
We're a transgression aggressively changing each...
Shame on me for being a shame to you.
Shame on you for making us completely incomplete.
Us, we're in a fire waiting and we're the embers dying to burn,
but just won't go out.
Smoldering heat beneath the seeds engrave lament onto me.
In a graveyard, on a tombstone, lies our lies trying to break free.
Never, forever, our promises were just enough to encourage suicidal tendencies.
I'm not dying to live, just living to die, waiting for rest of you to torture-ease my
pain.
Our hands grasped their counterparts, locking us never and again. The knife,
it was crying out to see the veins that always tease.
Every kiss to every bite, became a plight, but you're moans sound good to me.
Rocking, loving, we'll never be.
Now, with time, the question has become what are we.
Faceless, nameless, in our dust, I know what I'd like to be.
Let it be night when we meet and I'll tell you my dream.
You'll sing us a carol or just simply scream.
Then we'll battle until one cannot breathe.
Love me and I'll love you psychotically, without end, I'll be in your hell.
We'll unhappily be together as the two, The Lovers Fatal.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2006
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Michael Guerra Poem
My flower grows on a lucid hilltop pride,on land that never erodes and thrives
through death's caressing touch.Capsulized in crystalline, her petals fall like
dewdrops painting the winds cries. Tears kiss the pain; my hurt is in my eyes, my
truth, my mask, the softness-crier that feels without touch. And though I hide, she
knows me, holds me, turns my stray into life. Evanescing-assuasive-blind is my
faith, and she, her majesty, is divine, swaying all that moves and carries onward
life. I, in limbo, lie and watch her at night. Reading pagan psalms, I learn the
many ways, the many lights that guide seeds of iniquity away from exacerbating
plight, the many moralities of mortality.
And, though, I read book after book and ponder songs sacred, forlorn, I weary on.
My feet imprint where I've been, foot-stepping my physical path of everyday morn
and always-ending night. Be it, every step that has been taken, that is who am I,
questions that rest with the mind. She, like an angel of a ghost, foot-fell softly
upon my chest and opened my body, dim to her own. She can see the tracks,
intangible, the home of my soul. Clothed, I fade naked to her affectionate whims,
soft touches that sink core-deep, company that lies by my side, ecstacy that sub-
heal-sinks into euphoria. When she leaves, my dreams call for her, bleed out for
her, frantically seek her guidance and love.
I am a faithless man drawn to a light which likeness brims in a body of
sweetness, a body that scents warmth echoing after each smell, the sweet smell
of my flower. It soothes the aching-wondering, the lost-fantasm that makes me
heavier, the metal that makes me harder. Where I'm going, I do not know, but I do
choose where, when I walk away, when I go on. 'Pray I do not walk in vain, for,
one day, I wish to be king of my domain, myself. But, who am I to say what days
will fall onto mine, what power I really have, if I should ever fall in one of the ides
like a great leader gone too far?
Solitude and ambiguity is my remedy for the illness-uncertainty. All I know is what
I want, what beckons me, my unbridled urgency-eternally. And, always, she
knows my faithfulness to her, but my choice is my spirit. But, then, I cannot
pretend I don't yearn for something more, for something greater than myself, a
cradle in which to sow my end. Only life-ambiguous is relevant. With chance,
patience, and prayer-faithless, perhaps I'll rest with her, my flower, everlastingly
in crystalline-divinity.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2006
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Michael Guerra Poem
Floating in the dark,
a mile from what is real,
loving in the field,
we get the fad out of fate,
fade out of the fate.
Three naked women
break our faith,
kill the monkey low
when it's time go,
do what it takes;
do what it takes.
You,
in the distance,
knows our love shakes the other hand,
gets under your skin,
bites you and grinds,
bites you and grins.
Raping the minds of them all,
it crumbles,
bleaches dark souls,
carries our taste,
making us taste.
People call it hate;
I call it love junky sex madness that kicks in the shin,
Makes love with your soul,
calls out your name,
pushes what is sin.
And so the fun begins,
Piercing the skin,
making you die,
breaking the walls,
loving the ghost,
You know I'll find....
You,
silencing the dreams,
murdering the truth,
your smile truly gleams,
beams through the falls,
loses all control,
gets down crawls,
gets down and bawls.
You got me by the heart,
got me weak in the knees,
got me loving the high,
got the psyche coming up.
Blood filled gusts makes the room...
And now we'll end it all,
calling it in,
taking it out,
losing your faith,
losing it again.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2005
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Michael Guerra Poem
Lonely roads,
He walked unstopped.
By his side were a
Pony and a pillow
The pillow was faceless.
The pony did not talk.
Yet his friends they remained.
Unable to seek…
Unable to walk the brighter streets,
A victim’s paradise,
He ran away.
The people jeered at the guy
Who was “playing the victim.”
Surely his pain was his addiction.
So,
He left to his room,
Running from the anger,
Frustration, and
Shame,
They all the heed at he.
In tears and desperation he spoke to himself,
“A pony to talk to,
A pillow to hug;
It’s all I need.”
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2005
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Michael Guerra Poem
Gnome on my lawn, I see you're creeping on my home.
Where you belong, it's the ocean deep.
Leagues under the sea, you'll leave me alone.
At last, I'll have my peace, and be able to sleep.
I know you're real and that my dreams beckon you.
Roaming free, your buddies follow three whore puppets.
Pulling strings, the sound they make is like the death of a baby losing breath.
Tennis racket in hand, knife in the other, I'm here to bid you ado.
The grass is cool beneath my feet, soothing the fearful heat of angry trees.
There eyes look over you like a son and I'm the monster about the prey upon...
You, on my lawn, feel my mind aching to be free.
In a sack, I've thrown your body now.
Empty eyes will never greet me again from my journeys home.
So, this is how it feels to be free from the cold spirit of your kind.
Following the strings, I'm going after them.
Your buddies are going to die just like you, gnome without a soul.
Gnome johns of the whore puppet brothel panting from long lifeless love, I will
suffocate you.
Entities from the demonic hole in my soul, prepare to splinter inside.
Choke in a garbage bag, black and divine.
Heaven's going to dump your evil somber songs and destroy you for all...
'Time to drown out my sorrows in the deep calming below...
Ocean, so soothing and crushing, send these angry little gnomes back into the
night.
Never will I lose a wink because you're out of my mind and my life will set me free.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2006
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Michael Guerra Poem
Thine mind falters ‘cross thee blades.
Smokeless heat unsheathed today,
Languishes and bleeds.
Passionate Seeds soaked in time
Breathe in convulsions in….
You blindly smile and close your eyes.
In shock you’ve become mine.
Euphoric anesthetic pleases….
Making you cry is such a delight.
Deathly,
Am I?
Fair play is sheer fun.
Put your arms ‘round my throat.
Throbbing struggle come hence forth
To make me feel and fade.
Rock me thin until breath wears short.
Loath comes easy and doth not fail.
Love and hate me;
Show no shame.
Oh,
How pleasingly you came…
Inside your soul,
Beneath your flesh,
The truth be told about our merriment,
A ghost’s adultery.
A lust no less than our lives consoles your beating heart
As I feel your breasts.
Tricky,
Yes,
Life is why I came.
Punishment,
So relevant,
It’s apart of you.
Clutching hands onto I,
The nails break through the…
Skin so soft,
From your body,
It’s my possession.
Your soul so pure,
It’s my redemption.
The pounding grinds and haunting moans
Serenade the night beguiled.
All the while,
The pains still fresh and turns love into insanity.
Cut away and flirt with the blade.
Kiss the cold until it’s hot.
Gushing life,
It’s what you crave.
It’s a pain with such delight,
Something everyone can enjoy.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2005
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Michael Guerra Poem
Bound by love, your prisoner, distraught and lonely, I wait for you. My present
being, yearning for us, tortured, time stands still as our acquaintance subdue. At
the beach, nigh to the dunes, was our Eden, where you, my flower bloomed.
You were the pain, my last chance-dire. From my whole, you remained at our
wake, the caroling water of dreams. We're shoreline deep, and, in the sand, our
bodies remain. This is our sanctuary, or so it seems, until we bleed away.
In our youth, the sun smiled upon us, two innocents among the sinful tide. Your
smile, the true sunrise to my days, awoke me from a dream. Shy and timid, I
waited for you under the setting sun everyday. Holding hands, we confided in one
another, confessing our fears and pain. As the evenings gently caressed the
days from their stature, the moon lit our nights and the stars caught our eyes as
they fell towards each other.
The moon Shone like a precious fire on our wounds endless ires. And, to be
frank, I could not speak. From my lips to your cheek, seconds that were
moments, I was afraid. Like a child visiting the ocean for the first time, my touch
refrained. I steadily explored your currents pull. Its strength consumed my
tireless whims. Like a blade, smooth and clean, we sunk core-deep and fell into
each other until only one remained.
Precious memories, so long ago, fallen from Eden, I can’t let go. Into the sea, my
eyes gaze at what was once a boundless beauty to I, but now as gray as a
wounded soul, it beckons me towards a watery grave.
My head is a specter lost in a maze of lies looking for you. It gazes at paths once
walked in the light of innocence. Now, subdued, I float, sometimes in rage.
There's only one thing that remains true. Your beauty makes me want to lose my
virtues.
Waves of memories break in a hypnotic pattern; times of frolic betray their first
intentions, spiraling my heart downward. Words of infidelity stain the paper in my
hands, telling me to wait for one last dream, a nightmare. So as I read, I wait, like
I had done so many times before, for you, not a flower, but a rose of thorns.
In a mirror, much like a pool, my fingers scratch the surface and sink through. I
can touch our times and look back on them, but I can't explain why I can't fall in
love again, not with you. You whispered my name and turned away. Until the
end, we were friends, until the end, over and over again. Like a flower, I've wilted,
wilted in shame.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2005
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Michael Guerra Poem
I've been thought trippin', thinkin' 'bout the kingdom all in its glorious magical reason.
'Been dreamin', gleaming eyes sparkling alright at night.
Give me somethin' breathin'. Baby, you're so alive.
Don't forget to provoke the wolf woofing the girl in the red hood because he can't get
over the sexual tension. You'd think he'd never had a release, but they dated for weeks.
He had his chance, but he always a gluttonous neuronic fool.
Release the man with the axe to cut open the belly or moral redemption, starting anew,
leaving the old. We'll have dinner for two candle lit under shooting stars.
Whisper and mumble. Let's not forget we're not supposed to be here, not again, never
again, but we're here. So, let's talk and walk until we fall asleep and wake up from this
place, leaving each other for another stories end.
Let's get everyone in trouble, like old times, like all times, like we're telling the
story and they're all our children.
It's criminal, yes, criminal, criminal to all mad because they're only being themselves.
Be yourself, but don't forget who you are because I won't file a missing persons report.
Be careful for giants, walking drunks, over-compensating bone grinding blokes.
I'll meet you behind the third bean stalk on the left. We'll cut, hack, crack, crush down
on their homes. The overgrown will stay in the skies, die in the skies.
I want to walk with you in a fantasy land, chat with you on a path full of romance, and
wait for a tragic ending. Let's visit the sleeping dead, the that gal needs her prince
charming, the gal dying for a kiss.
Let's go back to the castle and throw the servants into cinder. Maybe they'll turn to
pumpkins and we could carve out our fates, carve in a face.
Yes, it's all surreal, so real to us, two thought trippin' characters, in a world of
inevitable doom or land where our dreams come true. We can see the the blood of this
world, the life that we left to breathe alone, at ease, in peace, for you and me.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2006
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Michael Guerra Poem
A blackened spider web, my mind is a cigarette.
From the ashes falling like thoughts,
my heart becomes a briquette,
An oozing longing for another time,
A poison perfume to reminisce
Oh, honey, I don't want to share this with you.
It's the night that ignites my hazed emptiness.
Burning just became the thing to do,
A layered silhouette to breathe in like a bruise.
Your touch is a silence,
A soft blue dreariness that lulls me to sleep
Like a smote clearness that protects me
From my toxic blood-life-source.
From my veins to yours,
I'm hurting you.
Baby, I don't want to share this.
My eyes are smoke orbs,
Two reapers that absorb your core.
The night feels like your presence,
A cold hug that keeps me warm.
And, there, I'm home, always home.
Alone, on a rainy day,
I remember the smile that always replaced
My awkward blackness,
The creep that lives in my being.
Dear, they're one in the same.
I'm gone.
I never wanted to share this with you,
My former and present friend who had to get away
From my character old and decayed.
Home, sweet home, I'll leave you today.
I'm out on my own, doing okay,
But all I know is that I'm taking my pain.
To protect you from me is what you need.
I've kept two pictures, a chest and a day.
You'll see things clearer and I'll be the same.
Oh, I know you're better off without me.
Your grace is an echo,
A presence that comes back to me
In dreams that take me away.
Home, oh, home, it felt great.
To be home.
Copyright © Michael Guerra | Year Posted 2007
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