The Dissolution of a Condensed Thought
A pure idea turned briefly into a body made of glass,
Caught in the very instant it began to tear apart,
While time froze solid on the edges of its fragile shape,
A whole universe held in the palm of one dead moment.
A black spine grows at the center, like a root burned black,
It is its own reflection, a snake swallowing its tail,
Its vertebrae are questions that keep turning back on themselves,
A tower of darkness leaning on the void, gone silent.
And above, a yellow sphere burns quiet as a sun,
It is the core of truth, its last living claim,
Its light bleeds slowly through the shapes now coming undone,
An egg of fire hatching the death of its own glow.
All the rest is fog that has forgotten how to exist,
Outlines fading out, like dreams at memory's first light,
Matter turning gently back into the thought that made it,
An echo dying out in the room where it was born.
And I watch the idea unravel into a thousand shadows,
The crystal dissolving back into the air it came from,
Only the yellow sphere remains, an eye still holding on
To the memory: once a thought, then matter, then nothing at all.
Break me up to starlight
Tear apart these walls
Break me up to starlight
'Till nothing else recalls
Each crushing wave
Transforms the pain
Into pure light
Again... again...
Your force Divine
Makes crystals shine
Pierce through my shell
With burning Grace
As I dispel
What You erase
Break me up to starlight...
Break me up to starlight...
I am choked by an anchorless, predatory rage.
I desperately crave a single throat to wring -
a solitary architect of this misery to tear apart while screaming 'Why?' into the dirt.
But there is no culprit to summon.
So, the violence turns inward.
I smash things, I bleed, I shatter my own reflection,
only to watch the dust settle and realize the most sickening truth of all:
I have become the flawless mirror image of the very cruel,
wrathful,
angry monsters who broke me.
The weeping willow tosses in the wind
its seeds fall in a haphazard way,
landing in all nooks and crannies.
Sprouting buds break the earth
in no particular order for this birth.
A tree begins to grow
and a connection is made with another.
The two trees intertwine both limbs and roots,
bringing a union of a sort.
They are coupled in all ways
sharing rain drops and sunshine
as they hover over one another.
Then their growth takes a different path,
branches straight across twisted ones,
roots running shallow over deeper ones,
sun and rain that no longer feed.
The entangled inseparableness that gave them such strength,
now at its core would only bring angst.
The binding bond that had been their crucial crest,
now symbolic of a misguided quest.
To tear apart their growth together,
may seem damaging forever.
But without this desperate separation,
leaves and flowers will have trouble creating.
A quiet love outlives the turning years,
It bends through storms yet never asks to rest,
It hums beneath the weight of hidden fears.
It learns to lose and still be softly blessed,
A fragile thread that will not tear apart,
Though every night it fails the silent test.
It guards a fire that trembles in the heart,
And stands against the sharpest edge of pain,
Yet yields its breath before it turns to art.
For love can war, but cannot war in vain,
It fights the world with gentle, open hands,
Till one soft word can break it like the rain.
“Stay not,” it hears and all it understands,
Is love can live, but dies when it disbands.
You are the fire
I am the ice.
They say we don't match.
But we don't think twice.
It won't suffice,
To stop us touch.
Your enchanting pleas.
Won't let me be.
All on my own.
They invite me closer.
And I fall for.
I call toward thee.
My echo roars,
Unearths, explores,
Your whole new world.
Of ardent desires.
I frost thy blood
That runs through your veins.
I can't stop the fiery burning.
It does not quench me.
Makes me more thirsty…
I can't explain.
You burn my heart
With the fiery darts.
That tear apart
My mortal being.
They amiably hurt me.
Make me want more.
I break thy bones.
You scorch my skin.
I frost…
You melt…
I do not know what to expect next.
But a beautiful, pristine feeling,
Already is born.
Starts to have meaning,
We call it simply,
Love…
Small
Dusty hands
Building houses in the sand
We are sons
We are daughters of the King
Still it is hidden
What we are meant to become
One day
The veil will tear apart
We shall be like Him
When we see Him as He is
We shall be like Him
Like Him
Like Him
Oh we shall be like Him
When we see Him as He is
Oh oh oh
Just like Him
Oh oh oh
See Him now
Waiting
Watching clouds
Keeping quiet in the crowd
Now
I am a child
A simple soul and wild
My eyes
Still blurred by the morning haze
One look
Changes everything I know
Gone
The shadow of my old face
We shall be like Him
When we see Him as He is
We shall be like Him
Like Him
Like Him
Oh we shall be like Him
When we see Him as He is
Behold what love
The Father gives
He calls us His
The Father gives
He calls us His
The Father gives
He calls us His
Pure and holy
True and worthy
Found at last
We shall be like Him
When we see Him as He is
We shall be like Him
Like Him
Like Him
Oh we shall be like Him
When we see Him as He is
As He is
Finally free
Just like Him
Just like Him
See Him now
Clear as day
(adapted from an old pop song)
You loved me once, we grew apart.
I love you still: you have my heart
forever.
And what we were? No mystery:
the wide and graceful history
of life.
Don't let it die.
What we can be, what we can do
is up to me and up to you.
What we reap is what we choose:
what we keep or what we lose
forever.
The world is ours to tear apart
But what if it's too late to start
again?
Don't let it die,
don’t say goodbye
in the end.
I saw him upon the platform—
Mr. Trump, with thunder in his voice:
“Solar and wind do not work,
fossil fuels are the true kings of power.
Renewables destroy economies,
and climate predictions are lies.”
The crowd roared,
but I stood in silence,
for it was like watching a comedy staged
in the theatre of despair.
Sometimes wealth makes fools look wise,
and the wise appear fools.
Is this the leader
346 million souls must follow?
Is he blind to burning forests,
to rising seas,
to storms that tear apart
the very fabric of the earth?
Machiavelli once said:
“The first method to measure a ruler’s intelligence
is to see the men who stand beside him.”
If Benjamin Netanyahu is his chosen friend,
then the flock is no surprise—
for birds of prey circle together.
And if this is the inheritance he leaves,
a denial of truth,
a betrayal of future generations,
then let history write it plain:
The legacy of Donald Trump
is not greatness,
but a Legacy of Shame.
The jagged edges tear apart
The cornerstones of her heart
Each day, there's an emotional dart
Thrown by her counterpart
The husband's venom impart
And sadly, she's his push cart
Where seemingly, she's his spare part
That he abuses with his mouthpart
She's fallen to her knees and kick-start
Thus, a bullseye that cries for a depart
For the jagged edges will never depart
But wisely, she needs to be smart
And distance herself from his blackheart
She yearns for smooth edges and a new start
In the end, she clears off her sweetheart
connie pachecho
7/31/25
Leather bound thoughts, tied on pages,
whispering to me of each day's beginnings
This sheet peels heart's despair
Creeping on bondage of words not spoken
that in the light, a yearning arises
Spilling yarns knitted but unraveled-
Time's remembrances awaken and heave
Soaking memories on the earmarks of carbon
To learn that passages with bleeding lines
Never open to rage of night
Restrained, I stitch the rims that tear apart
And recite the songs beyond the grey sky.
Volcanic Eruption Of The Soul
The venom drips, a sugared lie,
A serpent's smile behind your eye.
You claim to cherish, hold me dear,
While whispering poison in my ear.
A double-faced, deceitful thing,
The cruelest song a hater sings.
For open foes, at least, are true,
But you? You wound me through and through.
I bled for love, a sacrifice,
Poured out my soul at any price.
But every drop, a sharpened dart,
To tear apart my fragile heart.
Each tender offering turned to pain,
A crimson tide, a pouring rain.
My heart, once soft, now forged in fire,
Tempered by pain, fueled by desire,
To shut it tight, a tungsten tomb,
Where no more love can find its room.
I've tasted lies, and felt the sting,
Of shattered trust, betrayal's wing.
So let me be, in solitude,
Where no false love can intrude.
I'll build my walls, and lock the gate,
And seal my heart against its fate.
For loneliness, a cleaner pain,
Then love's deceit, again, again.
I'd rather be alone and strong,
Then suffer love's relentless wrong.
Axion, gone actual?
Energy low? Mass?
Sing within us all, moon full!
Shine in colored casse...
Opopanax, gears a-grim?
Young people these days!
Teeter on the crater's rim?
Success always pays.
Tamarisk tree, waking up.
Dreams from this one fly!
Covenant of drinking cup?
Do not deign to die...
Squirrel in deepest burrow?
Not this day, O my friend!
Fields with salt a-furrow!
Broken past the bend!
Winter snow, thy undertow.
Cold, take hold. O spring;
Which way leads to warp? Which woe?
Serpents, how you sting...
Gold on floor of old ravine?
Better leave it there?
Yellow eyes in skull, thy scene...
Press but don't despair.
Hope, tragedy. Rail or risk?
Horror, right this way!
Hell and Heaven, in a whisk!
Hatchet, who to slay?
Angels, demons, sacred art?
Cherries taste a-tart.
O explosions, tear apart!
Arrow, seek the heart!
End Times, tunnels, breath. Wind chimes.
Doubt, do not fail now.
Doom and Death dance on the dimes!
Best not to ask how...
Abstract ideas flitter about in my brain
like butterflies navigating a stiff August breeze.
I try unifying them into something,
a patchwork quilt of grandiose dreams
showcasing profound thoughts
that I feel are worthy of sharing
with strangers and sycophants,
maniacs and mentally sound,
downtrodden and dignitaries,
paupers and princesses
in hopes of making a lasting impression
that will forever change their lives.
But before unveiling my work to the world,
I scrutinize the stitching,
then question the pattern.
Thinking that it’s not good enough,
that it requires additional refinement,
I tear apart the completed piece.
Quickly I discover that it can’t be resewn,
reassembled
or recreated.
What was once coherent,
vibrant,
profound,
now lies in ruin.
These scraps of doubt then entomb me.
Unable to manipulate the fabric,
I remain immobilized
by a misguided attempt
to cover my perceived imperfections
and bury my profound neurosis
so my frail ego
will be shielded from nonexistent ridicule.
We cradle dreams, we build, we break, we heal,
In labor, love, and loss, calloused hands reveal.
Life lines drawn in the palm of my hand,
Scars from touches too plain to understand.
Hands that mend, yet leave their marks on the heart,
Building and destroying with every part.
The same hand that nurtures, can tear apart,
Tactile power woven into each scarred start.
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