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Isiah Morales Poem
A court-ordered fist full of responsibility.
An anonymous man, unraveling beneath the weight of his own faulty circuitry.
Infidelity sparked a chain of conformity—one so unfortunate, it defied precedent.
His kin, stripped of their once-rooted masculinity, wandered into an unfulfilling life.
When faced with strange anger, they clung to a mask—gleaming with false superiority.
Only a fool’s bargain could birth such a belief:
That fatherhood was never his choice,
But a manipulative ploy by a siren
Intent on masking her own deceit.
Though her intentions seemed dubious,
He clung to his delusions.
He chose alliance with a malicious visage—
A portrait of discontent and whispered wishes.
He refused to relent.
But in doing so,
He became consumed.
Exhausted by the very aftermath
Of the rattled child
He once claimed to care for.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
Out of misery—and for what?
What am I to do without my eyes of fog?
I am but a ghastly figure, trapped within my reality.
Pain once made me boundless and free,
Yet through the starry night, I feel love and dwell in it.
For luck’s sake, I am now chained to grace!
I must not, nor will I, lose myself to my heart’s content.
Though my hatred and sorrow have been quenched,
The fear around me remains.
You have felt it, as have I.
See to it that this memory is not lost
To the rhythm of this cursed soul.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
In her eyes sparkle bright and true, a true hymn of your divine view, when she's near my world takes onto a new hue, though many lay before me, they've never been you, with every glance my soul begins to soar, a never before seen lore carved into my core, here's my ode- my love for you to see, a sonet of our loves harmony.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
Love is alike a whisper among the deaf and a light among the blind. Many have claimed to understand it and many have claim to be apart of it but alike religion, they all seem to fall short of scripture.
Love unites us all is what they say according to the rational of those claiming to be within the grasps of these inauspicious schisms as they are coddled betwixt irony and self indulgence.
Your love is salvaged only by the reluctant anecdote of those accused and in favor of self-actualization.
Their love is not only a topic of mass hysteria brought forth by the fraudulent offspring of timeless arrogance but "love" is also a wedge between free will and the limitations prevailed by hatreds depth.
Love, is beyond the reckoning of dimensional rifts and broken spatial constructs contiguous by the darkness of man born antipathy.
This is the love you idolize and seek victory within.
This is the love you claim as a self redeeming gift.
This is the love you can only grasp tangibly and without rapport.
My love, wasn't
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
The sun is unchangeable until the moon whispers solace hymns of doubt.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
And for my last will & testament to a life concluded at the hands of the cruel poison that is time, I solemnly swear that a life poised to mean nothing shall not only bear such barren nakedness but will also birth a new age of emptiness while inheriting all of seclusion.
While these last meaningless words shall only succeed in painting a blank portrait, I will only afterwards exceed my own expectations by finding what the true natural distinction between Fate & Destiny really is and-or shall become.
I shall henceforth concede my life the only way any average & mundane human can ever truly fathom in its totality, with a long innocuous sigh.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
On sleepless nights, down winter's road,
A lonely knight in silence strode.
He raised his drink, a golden hue,
And bellowed deep, as sorrow grew.
A sudden quake—his soul it stirred,
And through the haze, strange voices heard.
He counted souls with trembling hand,
Each one like grains of dying sand.
The night grew cold, the stars grew dim,
No cheer nor warmth remained for him.
But lo! A ferryman appeared—
With staff in hand, four holes it speared.
Aghast, the knight beheld his face,
Time had worn it—left no trace
Of youth or mirth, just aching bones,
A mirror held to silent groans.
And then his glass—now slick with mold,
Slipped from his hand; he felt so old.
“Au revoir,” the stranger sighed,
To charred-eyed knight, whose heart had cried.
Then toward a light from darkened skies,
He went—no fear, no need for guise.
A star, perhaps, or something more,
A beacon to a distant shore.
And thus the tale, now soft and thin:
A knight finds peace from strife within.
For he may rest, his journey done—
A life well lived, a race well run.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
Love is something few alive know. it isn't something you do nor is it something you can catch. It is the outcome of a life lived for another in agreement with each other. Those who are shackled by its roots are blinded in their hearts & can only view each other whilst gazing forward towards a hopeful & peaceful end.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
As the dream king is sat at his throne...
What am I to do whilst I am away? What then would befall my kingdom? There is still so much to do but yet, I am administered so little time. I am here now but what should take priority? This throne alike every footstep of mine bears the weight of those many grains of sand that has helped shape what I am & what you would want to be. Since this is a peculiar circumstance-
Lord shaper sighs...
I am permitted one last show of viability. This will be my final act, not only as king but as morpheus.
Morpheus waves his hand to relieve himself of his throne and thus all of creation awakens...
I am at the end of my duties so yes, I am also at the end of my life. For thousands of years Ive believed that my role being dream of the endless was unchangeable and essential. Because of that I was to be unchallenged and unable to be woven unto anything more or less- that my presence was to keep order to an unorderly presence within the subconscious minds of both the temporal & immortal. My my, how much has developed, even within these final hours of mine, I cannot remain ever so stiff. I am tired...
The sandman walks into his chambers, closes the door & lays atop his bed for the first and final time...
May my final moments be to me what it has always been to others- not finality but an open ended agreement of the inevitable. As I lay here with my eyes shut, I am both shaken and relieved. This is what I have given & so I believe it is only fair that I shall receive the same. I welcome the next few breaths with this last, endlessly repeated word that seemed so hallowed yet now Ive come to understand it personally... Goodnight.
As he finishes his thoughts- the dream king, lord shaper, dream of the endless, morpheus himself, fells into a slumber of sorts. One not maintained by any of his siblings nor even himself of course. Bittersweet it is and always has been.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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Isiah Morales Poem
I hate. I hate. I hate.
You aren't me.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
You don't want to be me.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
Through hell, I've earned it all.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
You dont need it, I do.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
What's yours is mine.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
You dont deserve it, It shouldn't be yours.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
Let go of it, it's mine.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
Give up on it, what's mine will always be mine.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
Death to all of you but mine- I will grasp it.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
I dont care about you- mine! mine! mine!
I hate. I hate. I hate.
Shhhhh, forfeit yourself- it has always belonged to me.
I hate. I hate. I hate.
Copyright © Isiah Morales | Year Posted 2025
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