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Miguel Ramos Poem
Neurosis imposes osteoporosis through Ouroboros like locusts
Focus is broken so just blitz like Germans in Poland
Anxiety lies to me and starts fighting me in 451 degrees
Mind exploding like Boeing 747 Max's with 157 casualties
Survival is a trial to lift my kind
Wallpaper's yellow, might be more mellow if you play the cello
Dog's not yellow, might go mental if I use this pencil
Friends got Orwellian messages or their Machiavellians
Adrenaline from conversation with close ones is my situation
But I might have lied and blighted their mind and life
Haitian earthquake or hurricane on lunch break on Sunday
Someday I will have graffiti on my frame of shame
but why be pessimistic or mystic when there's optimistic
Everyone'll listen but'll flip it and'll miss it
optimism is a trick but pessimism is acidic
My cerebrum's still noxious, filled with toxins
filled with acid and plastic that saran wraps victims
I'll always be Rambo and go all Van Gogh
But in the Kola Borehole, I'm vulnerable
The great filter awaits to kill the big
Schizophrenic or angelic, a soldier or murderer or Belic
Felon making ends for a family of ten is Satanic
But sit back, don't worry, relax with hats off
To Kraków we're off, coming back we're not
Life is sweeter when you're ignorant
At least until you get into it
Copyright © Miguel Ramos | Year Posted 2019
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Miguel Ramos Poem
The Enigmatic Feeling of Passion
By Miguel Ramos
What is passion?
The feeling of euphoria, animosity or melancholy?
Perhaps it’s hysteria, delirium or derangement?
Or going from devil’s hour to coyotes hour laboring?
Is it doing something with impetus and incentive?
Is it sacrificing sentiment to advance society?
Or being recalcitrant and following ambition?
Or will it be eternally flummoxing?
Passion, devotion, fervor or ardor, whatever appellation you give it, there’s nothing elementary about this word.
Passion is just as perplexing as the passionate.
Copyright © Miguel Ramos | Year Posted 2019
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Miguel Ramos Poem
65 years from now
My silence will be loud
You dare not care when I had sung
for you only listen under defcon one
65 years from now
You will ask how
You always went with the truth
and went with the red, white, and blue
65 years from now
No more flowers on the ground
You looked at the past as something sick
Now the future looks at you like idiots
65 years from now
People will still run around
In our dreams, we are in space
but on earth, we are erased
65 years from now
when silence is loud
and the roach is our king
That's when we lose reality
We were dead long before 2666
Humanity was inadequate
Copyright © Miguel Ramos | Year Posted 2019
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