Brainstorm

My mind is like a token
for all accounts I have
brought fourth into existence.
Therefore, my mind
is also like a weapon
for all of the infliction
it has brought fourth
during the process
of manifestation.

Sores

Most of us like to talk
to forget the things
that bother us most.
Some pretentious
Some truthful
Whomever you may be
I am the worst!
My words disguise my face
My very existence of being.
I am not like you
I am not a saint
but then again
I am more like you
than you really think!
We are all reputed-authors
writing the pages to our books
illustrating dramas
poems
romances
and comedies.
We are free to be anything
with our words prefabricated.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Malcontent

It's more of a modern thing to be like them
to dress like them
to smell like them
In all honesty
the craving for that taste
lingers at MY tongue.
The craving for fame
is laughing!
Who am i but to hurt
and feel like such a tragic-mess?
Don't blame me.
It's everywhere!
It's surrounding us now!
Temptation.
The desire to want what you want
and to want what you cannot have.
Tragic-irony.
And yet,
in this realization,
I have come to terms with myself.
The 'you' is who you want it to be.
Remember, hopes and dreams
cannot be acquired through sleep,
rather they can only be acquired
through manifestation.
Action requires action.
Sleep requires sleep.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011

Enigmas

Foreign numbers
disguised as symbols
find art in the art of living.
Where drapes of cotton
hang above the horizon
Where bodies of water
engulf the land.
There, they will take shape.
Finally, an enigma
to solve all enigma's
has revealed its' equation.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Languid Creation

Maybe if we all had wings
we could fly to the moon
just to hear them sing.
We could watch them conduct the waves
with symphonic strings.

Be calmer still
For we are insulate
acquired form of dirt.
The sea is dark
Thy breast is cold
It's warmth is napping
suggesting storms.

Libatious fecal flowing forward.
Androgynous vessels swim with mirth
for we are now aware
of existence and birth.

They will write about us, yes
And they will profit.

Maybe if we all had fins
we could swim
to the deepest parts of the ocean
where gills remain meaningless
and darkness eats light.

"Oh gods of the vast sky
let this be forthright,
impale me for my sins
so that the sea may remain dark
and the sun remain thin-
so it may light the land with color
and bring life from within.
We are but lepers;
decaying past."

Onward we march.

Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas