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Gerardo A Pineda Poem
Soft rock; smooth music filling the air.
A gentle nostalgia that makes thoughts wander more than usual.
A sweet presence flutters around the spectrum.
Not physically, just a simple spark of imagination, that one that turns ordinary moments into small echoes.
A good moment for the brain to daydream and float, defying the heavy gravity.
Couples coming and going, filling the sidewalks with muffled chatter that breaks the quiet one dives into.
A few laughs are coming from who knows where; nothing remarkable.
When all that passes, the surroundings become even quieter than before.
Mowing the lawn, folding the laundry, reading a little of something that one can’t quite remember now.
Simple tasks. Repetitive motions.
But beneath them, questions kept circling:
What if things had been different?
What if the timing, the courage, or fate had shifted just a little?
Would this day have felt less empty?
Less sad and nostalgic?
Nobody has an answer.
Only the music, the chores, and the quietness that sometimes aches recreate a scene of another version of this life.
Copyright © Gerardo A Pineda | Year Posted 2026
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Gerardo A Pineda Poem
Melancholy smashes veins,
like a huge hammer over the head,
and pushes the heart,
like a strong man pushes a big rock.
It turns the memories
into a dark and silent graveyard
on a moonless night.
It makes us see shadows in the light,
even when the sun rises
in a blue sky.
It can touch the furthest memory
that was about to disappear.
The feeling of agony
amidst great melancholy
smells like a rotten corpse
abandoned in the woods.
That sad thought makes us hear
the voices of those loved ones
who had gone away
a long time ago.
The jumble of thoughts
of melancholy sparks
a bitter taste
that cannot be digested.
It burns the stomach
from its interior walls,
and squeeze the liver,
making the blood black
turning it into liquid steel.
Copyright © Gerardo A Pineda | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Gerardo A Pineda Poem
What did it say?
Is it coffee speaking,
Or is it the mug?
I don’t understand.
I’m still sleeping.
Wait until the last sip is gone.
I’ll get it by then.
Let me drink you up.
Don’t burn my tongue.
I’m in no rush.
You smell good, my friend.
Your aroma wakes me up.
Your warm, liquid body
will put me on my feet.
What were you saying?
I think I’m ready now.
Now you’re quiet.
I know, I know
You’re empty now.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I had to drink you,
Otherwise,
I wouldn’t understand your message.
Now I’m standing,
I’m ready to go.
The day is waiting
So is the hustle.
Copyright © Gerardo A Pineda | Year Posted 2026
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