journalistically

[journalistically]

Our time in the sun,

Knowing the warmth of this moment can never be undone,

And can I be,

Left in its rays,

This golden amber,

In unaware of its power,

Unaware each giving of the day,

Lighting everything I fear,

In it’s harbor,

Ive waited here.

Knowing that some day ill cross,

Of our time in the moon,

This everglade,

In this soft lights forever shade,

To fill the emptiness of all I have consumed,

And still room,

For all,

And more,

In the stillness of my thoughts,

I lay here,

In this glow,

On this floor.

Till I myself glisten,

My time in this hour,

I stop, just listen.

Watching the sun set,

In this haze turned crimson.

-g3o R.

[journalistically]

And could you find,

This refrain,

Sublime,

Listening to the trickling of the rain,

From the broken windows of my mind.

In this cold air a stillness,

Framing frailty,

The subtle brevity,

Stepping back,

In my mind.

Carefully.

Could almost see my self,

This shadow of introspection,

A caricature,

With such allure.

Was so unsure,

Of my own reflection.

And we.

So free,

To color the fields and the flowers,

In grassy hills,

Contemplating secrets of the cosmos.

For days, for hour’s.

To take emptiness.

And drink of its vase,

Unyielding in our desire for happiness,

A gradualness.

Just a glance.

A taste.

Of something more.

And could you find.

This reason, in my refrain.

In my minds eye.

I’ve so often escaped.

Geo Rodriguez.

[journalistically]

More than you will ever know,

I Could not number,

These numbers unknown.

These winding paths,

These Endless roads.

Could not find you.

And so I chose,

To lose myself,

To walk alone.

Where sorrows sow,

In heaps, they grow,

In depths,

such troves.

Of love lost,

In tiny woven cloves.

The empty homes,

I wear the clothes,

Of lives that we’re not.

My small allotment of dreams and hopes.

And it’s more.

So much more.

Then you will even know.

Holding you close,

My ever cherished ghost,

Hollowed in my songs and prose.

You touched my heart,

And I am forever froze,

In the fervency of this desire

Cold.

More.

Than you will ever know.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

And here in,

I have comprised,

This sea bed of frailty’s,

Where my sin has come to lay in wait,

And die.

With such heavy eyes,

I have fought against,

The good of all intents.

The good of all that’s spent.

To forge,

In my defense,

The heaviness of armor,

To give in.

To repent.

Have I slept,

While the masses unkept,

Taken away by this brevity of life,

Of this eternity,

In death.

What of time,

If but obscurity,

The weathering of faith,

Against all uncertainty.

For surely.

This unclean thing,

In contemplation of purity,

Grasping for understanding.

Of this feeling.

If just in wording.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

That something wonderful,

Would appear,

The ever abundance,

Of all that is unclear.

I will give you my voice,

If you would lend me your ear,

Bring to life,

In this peculiar,

Vernacular.

I wanted something to feel,

But I can’t.

Rembrandt,

A painter with no hands,

The inexpressive,

Silence of this life’s questions.

Sensitive to light,

In my darkest.

Where I am chambered,

To all these desires,

That go against my nature.

What would you wager,

To ourselves.

A stranger.

Through it all,

In vain,

We labored.

I have hoped for,

All,

And all the more,

A winding corridor,

This enticing paramour,

This rising tide,

Where I reside,

Upon its ever expanding shore.

Believing.

That something wonderful.

Would appear.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

Words are too much,

But sometimes,

Nearly often,

In knowing that I,

Ever abide,

In this place,

I’ve runaway,

To hide,

From me.

Can you see,

The intricacies,

Of simpler things,

That I have contrived.

Not always,

Yet so very often,

In this secluded clouded place,

Fortified my heart behind this case,

I will not let love in,

This abandoned hollowed inn,

But,

Not always.

Though often.

Could the world,

Ever hope to find,

A paradigm,

To lift the mind,

Of evergreens.

Of ever growing vines,

To help me escape,

In knowing.

We have not moved,

But all have loved in place.

Not having left our marks,

But only a smallness,

Only a trace.

Not often.

And sometimes.

Nearly often.

- Geo R.

[journalistically]

And I will find,

What lyes behind,

The heart and mind,

So often inclined:

That I am alone,

In this endeavor,

Unable to grasp,

A fraction of my forever,

If ever,

Fully awakened,

To this truth,

Frightened,

Naked.

In knowing,

I found a road,

To lead me home,

The sweetness of,

This fullness in love,

Vividness,

Colored in with a kiss.

The not so tranquillity,

Of my sinfulness’s in all its fertility,

Knowing I’ve found it,

Only when it’s leaving me.

-Geo R.

[journalistically]

And I felt,

This emptiness,

The ever atmospheric,

With my heart standing still,

Often.

I hear it.

As if a stillness,

Of waters glistening,

How love was bountiful,

And in my mind,

We traveled,

Escaping realities,

In my room often,

Drifting through galaxies.

And I would go anywhere,

That wasn’t here,

The absolute of this small infinite,

But it’s only time,

I have it all sifted,

Through the hours of this glass,

Slowly trickling.

Tell me how,

To be here now,

When this present,

So disavowed,

When it has past,

Becomes so loud.

And I,

Feed.

This emptiness.

This strange heaviness,

Calling.

Often.

I hear it.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

Till the sun has dried.

Holding onto the last of its light.

Always believed it would last,

Holding fast,

That we’d never see the night.

Though.

Hours past.

Through my windows.

Seeing the world through this pain.

Is anything real.

Tell me where to go.

Tell me how to feel.

The numbness of it all.

Just wanting oneness; small.

And I,

Eye and eye,

With the sun,

Reading each others mind,

What lies behind,

These aging lines,

Then,

With all clarity,

My words,

Carefully:

Nothing so warm,

This light that I am bathed in,

And,

It’s okay,

Someday we’ll fly away,

Where all these feelings far, will fade.

All of your likeness,

Growing indifferent in brightness,

Knowing.

It’s hard to feel these things.

Knowing you are the sun.

- Geo R

[journalistically]

In hopes,

That we too,

Might be consumed,

The fullness of our love,

In long corridors,

Unfolding,

In bloom.

That we might continue,

In the scarcity of this timid blossom,

A love remembered,

Though.

Only fragmented echos; forgotten.

There is a fragrance,

This scent a gradualness of our time,

In this warmth we fade into radiance,

Till there was darkness,

Of caves,

Of caves within.

This cloak that I had worn about,

A garment,

That told stories,

Of the old world.

Of love,

Alone in his house.

For all those,

Who saw hope,

Open.

Then close.

Waiting.

To be consumed.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

Truly.

Such beauty to be hold.

I held my breath,

Till nothing left.

Just this weight.

In gold.

Surely.

To love some one purely,

For what they are,

What they can be,

Look.

Inside of me.

A child so scared to dream.

Knowing that everything,

Glistening.

Isn’t gold.

Though.

Mostly.

Held to this fire closely.

Refined,

My nature hastily,

In this complexity of our design.

For we all subjugated,

To the same hands,

Holding back the time.

Each one of us molded.

In our hour.

Golden.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

And everything is,

Too much to get me out of this,

Bed.

Too much.

Clouds in my head,

Oh.

Why.

Did I ever cross your mind?

It’s just all so blue,

The emptiness I filled with all of you,

So strange to see the world in all its color,

I often wonder,

About.

All the lines,

In grey.

Easier to simply say.

At least I tried,

To paint your sky.

Oh.

And everything is.

All too much.

In my head with just.

All these clouds.

Wonder if I ever crossed your mind.

Would you.

Sing to me.

Give all your voice and free,

This space I find it’s hard to see,

Oh that I could believe.

In happiness.

Raptured in.

This head of mine

Oh.

Too much.

It’s just these clouds.

Just to hear you say:

Let’s go far away,

Fly so high away,

Even for just a day.

Always.

In this head of mine.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

Love you right in the fur 🐶

[journalistically]

Why does it feel empty,

This ocean of many,

This vastness of plenty,

How can it be,

At times lifeless,

At times.

- Just me.

These are our voices in epilogue,

These lingering ghosts,

That know us most,

That hold us close,

That console us,

Slipping away in hopes,

That it’s not:

- Just me.

Why do I feel lost,

My hollow cross to carry,

Across the living,

Until I too, am buried,

Could I,

Crafting such clouded thoughts design,

Such a world devine,

Some Heaven,

Some piece of mind,

Or would I too, find,

That it was always.

- Just me.

Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

To find,

That love is blind,

The rising of a sun,

That will not subside,

And,

To this sign of life,

I retreat,

To run away,

And hide,

This castles staircase,

Had crumbled with time,

Weakened by the subtle weight,

Of the feeble mind,

Yet,

Still,

Even shadow’s climb,

Tell me.

How can it be,

That in this chaos,

I’ve found a tree.

The root of happiness,

In the smallest of things,

That grew into strength,

The fruit of the labor’s power in seeds,

And we,

Gathered togetherness in colors,

As leaves,

Our bountiful harvest of dreams,

Swaying so careless in the golden light of this breeze,

Who will be left to capture this moment,

When it leaves.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

And there is a place,

With trestles,

In caves,

Where darkness awaits,

Through sorrows heavy gates,

Such that the coldness of time,

Can not escape,

And all that ever was,

Is shrouded and draped,

And I,

With open eyes could not see,

Tomorrow,

How subtle time is all together swallowed,

And I,

Am swimming in,

A moment of time,

This realm,

This sin.

And I,

Alone a capsule,

Captive of my own raptures,

Enslaved to such unsurety,

Doubting the rein of my masters.

An outlier,

Subsequent to frequencies,

Patterns in waves of love,

Static beamed to me,

Often,

Listening.

- Geo Rodriguez

[journalistically]

And what if you found this place,

That emptiness wasn’t,

A Heaviness,

Where nothingness,

Filled our heart and limbs,

Till we again are kids,

Where I could hold the sun,

To watch the darkness run,

To fight these shadows,

Till there are none.

And what if you found this place,

Never sadden,

Where love rained down as strong as mountains,

Tears of joy bursting out like fountains,

And we,

Ever alone in dreams,

Longing to ever escape,

With wings,

To find this place,

We have not seen,

In the chaos of life’s streams,

Holding onto to frailty of loves seams.

- Geo Rodriguez