Poetry & Prose

(Source: 500px.com)

In the ashes of love
I’ve found a spark,
and I’ll treasure it dearly
for it is my heart.
A fragment of dreams
and demons both
but I’ll always remember,
I control the smoke.

Michel LazzaroYou aren’t watching your life on a movie screen 

In the fragile state between dreaming
and the nightmares, waking up to sirens
screaming out the blackness, we wander
down toward the rotting piers and empty docks
with a hope for nothing, silence, waning to lights
seen only from a distance, a futile dream,
an empty state of hope. Can I have this dance,
sailor with rough hands and slurred words.
Can you lend me your ship with no maps,
Captain of endless freedom and violent love;
loan me your dreams of stardust, keep your nightmares
of empty nights and warm waves washing
feet toward the sinking mountains — kiss me.
I was born with seaweed on my lips and sand
melting into glass sculptures beneath my eyes.
I was not made for the earth, I am the gentle swells,
the cracking sails, the last warrior in an age of mud.

Michel LazzaroA Never Ending Horizon (via elzaro)

I’m sorry;
we have the grass to blame.
and the shots we said we’d never take.
and that face you pulled,
when I said I liked your eyes.

I’m sorry;
We had no moon last night.
I could barely see your dancemoves.
and your legs tasted of cloverfields.
and your heartbeat broke my fingertips,
when I looked into your eyes.

I’m sorry;
we have to go shopping in a few days.
someone should make buttons that don’t break
when you rip the fabric off second-hand shirts —

or try undo a tie with your teeth.
I’m sorry;
you were saying.

I’m sorry;
I can’t remember your name.
Did you want to come home with me.
I think I’d like you to stay.

I’m sorry;
I can’t remember your name.
Did you learn to love like that
or were you born that way.
I think I’d like to stay.

Michel LazzaroChance Encounters With Death

In the fragile state between dreaming
and the nightmares, waking up to sirens
screaming out the blackness, we wander
down toward the rotting piers and empty docks
with a hope for nothing, silence, waning to lights
seen only from a distance, a futile dream,
an empty state of hope. Can I have this dance,
sailor with rough hands and slurred words.
Can you lend me your ship with no maps,
Captain of endless freedom and violent love;
loan me your dreams of stardust, keep your nightmares
of empty nights and warm waves washing
feet toward the sinking mountains — kiss me.
I was born with seaweed on my lips and sand
melting into glass sculptures beneath my eyes.
I was not made for the earth, I am the gentle swells,
the cracking sails, the last warrior in an age of mud.

Michel LazzaroA Never Ending Horizon

I don’t want plastic screens
on my windows, in the winter
the cold hurts my hands,
and in the summer my feet burn.
I don’t want plastic screens
on my windows; thoughts
were made to shatter glass
and be reborn as art.

Michel LazzaroWarped Ideas 

Endless moon in a shallow bay
floating along the endless days
as we dream of Marigolds
flying winds of calamity.

Sorry dear, there are no ports
on this ship of sorry sorts.
You’ll have to swim with the weeds
or learn to fly as we taught.

We never knew, the story goes,
who was first to dip their toes.
But do not fear, the moon it rises,
and bathes us all in her wondrous glow.

Step aboard and take a chance.
Alone and loveless, we cannot dance.
Reserve a section of the clouds
and catch the wind to fairy lands.

Michel LazzaroA Windy Afternoon in August (via elzaro)

Trapped in a wooden box
with a lighter and match
I pour fluid on the floor
and mix the ink dripping
from my t-shirt
with the receipts for secret dinners
I found hidden in coat pockets.
Somewhere in the hall
a man is yelling at the receptionist
as I scrape my skin with charcoal
and wait for the rough words
to sink in.
My shirts are white washed
pictures of a sunset.
I refuse to be sad.
I am happy alone.

Michel LazzaroSoon The World Will Burn

She stood on a pine tree
with her hair telling stories of lust
and her eyes begging a star explosion
to mirror her life.

He watched the pixies playing tricks,
a stain on his jeans
and the quarter in his pocket
burning a star trail
to the moon.

Nothing happened of course.
She danced. He spoke to the voices
of doubt and longing.

Walking home they laughed
and sank to the stones.
Knees bleeding and hearts mending
they watched the sky
and continued to live.

Michel LazzaroA Night Like No Other

Endless moon in a shallow bay
floating along the endless days
as we dream of Marigolds
flying winds of calamity.

Sorry dear, there are no ports
on this ship of sorry sorts.
You’ll have to swim with the weeds
or learn to fly as we taught.

We never knew, the story goes,
who was first to dip their toes.
But do not fear, the moon it rises,
and bathes us all in her wondrous glow.

Step aboard and take a chance.
Alone and loveless, we cannot dance.
Reserve a section of the clouds
and catch the wind to fairy lands.

Michel LazzaroA Windy Afternoon in August

He called me.
Nothing but a picture and a ringtone
that brought back all the reasons
I kept the fractured screen.

I didn’t answer,
Of course. You think I am pathetic.
No strength of character
or I would have started with the list
of all the things he’d done to break me.

I left it at home.
It’s on my nightstand,
beside the water bottle
with stale liquid rusting the necklace
he gave me for my birthday
ten years ago.

I went walking on the melted glass
they call a beachfront.
The wind had started to howl
his name. The gulls were picking at rubbish
on the shoreline. I waited for the rain.
But it never came.

I threw my phone in the ocean
today. The cracking screen
caught the sunlight as it floated away.
It was ringing again.

Michel LazzaroI threw my phone in the ocean today (via elzaro)

thisismyplacetobe:

A ‘Ring of Fire’ solar eclipse is a rare phenomenon that occurs when the moon’s orbit is at its apogee: the part of its orbit farthest away from the Earth. Because the moon is so far away, it seems smaller than normal to the human eye. The result is that the moon doesn’t entirely block out our view of the sun, but leaves an “annulus,” or ring of sunlight glowing around it. Hence the term  “annular” eclipse rather than a “total” eclipse.

I have a bluebird in my pocket
and she is singing a tune for stars.
The spring winds have come early this year
and soon she will be apart my heart.
I will mourn her dearly,
an aching space too start,
but clever bluebird that she is
she has begun a song
that will never be too far.

Michel LazzaroNo One Ever Leaves Completely (via elzaro)

(Source: benchandcompass)