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Best Poems Written by Charles Cuellar

Below are the all-time best Charles Cuellar poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Charles Cuellar Poem

The Haunting Gaze

Once upon a woeful early December night nigh,
Who am I, in this fateful time of scry’s reprise?
Over many a quaint reminisce of my ghostly past,
Suddenly, feel eyes piercing again, with no end.
I looked around, to no avail; my time has end.
 I turned and saw darkness cast.

As I went out in the dreary night, I felt peace,
Oddly enough, the crickets chirp, and the wind speaks.
I walk along the road, and yet I felt uneasy.
Again, those piercing eyes sunk deep into my griefs.
“Where are you?" I call out. "Can you hear my pleas?”
Again, I turned to dark seas.

Strolling about, footsteps echo, though path’s untrod.
I falter back home, but it's inconvenient fraud.
Back to the untrod path of what could be or not,
I look around, to no avail; I feel this facade.
Eagerly, I call out; now there are piercing prods.
I seek out the darkness's fraud.

I see no evil, hear no evil. What are you?
I gently crept all about with no sound; I’m bound
Bound to seek you and end this childish game you play.
How come I have heard no sound? Are you not profound?
Thy hide an enigmatic like bound that surrounds.
Are you in the darkness bound?

Come out from hiding; I know thy eyes follow thee.
Why won’t you listen to me? Do you speak in threes?
I know you are out there; why do not you reveal?
How do I convince thee speak to me? Please, please, please?
I wait for an answer, but only I say, “Pleas.”
I spoke to you in threes; do you need some more pleas?

The wind blows against my ear, and I hear nothing obscure.
A distant echo runs into my ear; I call, “Who is there?”
Echo no more; the sound is clear, I call out again.
Footsteps follow; finally, it emerges from darkness’ air.
It has appeared. Who is there? Make me aware!
It calls out, but not clear.

I got a glimpse of the figure that finally answered my call,
A wraith that seems to haunt my memory.
Its eyes, like embers, cold, dead, and deep,
And though the form looked cloaked in dread,
A ghostly echo of what’s dead,
A past that whispers in my sleep.

Details | Charles Cuellar Poem

Erratic Dream

Virtuous she is, the strength she holds,
Erratic she be, but beautiful is thee,
Ravishing art thee, she is a dream, 
Opportune you shall scin, you’ll be;
Neat till death do us part, mi amor
Idyllic she be, like no other,  
Contagious her smile be, beautiful is thee,
Angelic her beauty, like no other.

Details | Charles Cuellar Poem

Self-imprisoned

In this abyss, where senses fade,
A labyrinth of fears, eyes stick to spade
A choice self-made, a soul betrayed,
In pale moonlight, a tearful price is paid 

Man without a shrine, longing for time,
A barren altar, with no falter, heart in chains,
Death’s embrace, leaves no trace,
Echoes remain, whispering in pain.
Silence.
No more pain.

In bleakest dreams, her face indiscernibly appears,
A vision born of unshed tears,
I reach for her, but grasp cold air,
A love denied, beyond compare.

On this labyrinth of thought, I roam,
A mindscape built in my own dome, 
Each twist and turn, a memory’s sting,
Forever lost, with no returning. 

Walls closing in, a suffocating hold, 
Lost in echoes, stories untold,
A prisoner of my own design,
In this solitude, I resign in forever decline.

Yet surrounded by walls, a thought appalls,
A spark of hope amidst the pain,
To break my bound chain, to find the door,
And leave this darkness evermore.

Shadows lingers in these walls,
Stick to spade it seems,
I gather faith from vivid dreams,
Every second, a chance to rise,
Painting new colors of these skies.

And so I stand, under the moonlight,
Embracing shadows, seeking light,
In very dawn, a chance to mend,
A journey forward, without end 

Though scars remain, to testament of faith,
To battles fought with strength,
I find solace in this quiet space,
Of a soul awakened, it its place

Details | Charles Cuellar Poem

Iron Veil

Truth be told, or is it so,
Is strength bronze or tin?
Forever mystery lies so,
In this transcended kin.

Beneath the rust, a fragile heart,
Iron weeps, its strength apart.
A veil of secrets, shadows loom,
Where truth’s enigma finds its tomb.

In fragile echoes, whispers call,
Uncertainty befalls, thoughts of chanciness.
As ready minds begin to fall,
A second thought of unsureness.

Though some say it's peaceful,
A chilling draft, shadows impenetrable.
The touch, cold & luridful,
As if metal guards what’s unfalsifiable.

A muffled sound, a mournful hum,
As secrets whisper, what is keen.
For a darkened blanket casted,
Obscuring truth, a world unseen.
The taste bitter, how obscene,
Obscene in taste, even in earful mean.

Details | Charles Cuellar Poem

Beneath the Iron Veil

Echoes of the holy grace, for this place,
Endless woe of devolution,
Forever entice, your grace,
The moon is your solution. 

Confined in this space, of endless grace,
Under the moonlight, it is illusion,
Illusion of woe, forever retrace,
It is all persuasion, or is it union?

Shadows creep, where darkness breeds,
A symphony of sorrows, never-ending,
Lost souls wander, planting crushed seeds,
A tale, forever transcending.