r/ThirdEyePoetry

You board up your windows while I board the midnight train.
The hammer strikes before the lightning flash—
a rhythmic, hollow thud against the coming black.
Turns out the glass was really cellophane.

Paper walls and deadbolts made of rust—
a feeble dwelling I once called home—
illusions of structure I thought I could trust,
though clarity comes before the storm.

Moonlit tracks lead anywhere but here–
silver beacons to clearer skies.
Howling your name in time with the wind–
your memory fades, but it never dies.

The engine is hungry, the valley is wide,
and I am a ghost the rain cannot follow.
I'm leaving the wreckage and washing my pride–
let the storms sow the seeds of tomorrow.

I found her under a devil's skin
Her scent of forever drew me in
One thousand years, her lips still burn
The lessons of love we'll never learn
She calls my name, I come undone
We've been together since time began
I crave her love, her cruelest part
She drinks my blood, drains my heart
I dig my grave, I come back to life
She kisses my neck, her tongue a knife
Her lust devours, her secret sings
We fly at night with bloodied wings
Her claws upon my unholy chest
My mercy lost, she is my test
Through every age, our bodies fall
Through every death, I meet her call
We fight, we love, we bleed as one
The moon our day, the night our sun
So let me rhyme, these mortal cries
We live forever when heaven dies
For I am hers and she is mine
Two souls that feed on love’s design
And when the day forgets our names
We rise at dusk, and kiss the flames
Still bound by lust, by blood, by art
Forever undead, yet heart to heart

Formidable jottings hidden inside,

Opportunities endlessly jumbled,

Reassuring phrases of wisdom helping guide,

Thoughtful words keeping your center humbled.

Unfolding a fun mysterious read,

Newfound meaning to immerse soul into,

Encouraging collocation help freed,

Consider yourself to newly endue.

Optimism in ones' hand, crack it in two,

Optional advice to take to the heart,

Knowing perception of what not to do,

Intuition leads your becoming start.

Eating the treat to make everything true,

Sweet nothings poise a future to pursue.

Ruhum..t, the wipers sing their soft refrain,

a lullaby in arcs across the glass,

where tiny drops arrive, then slip to rain,

too full of light and longing not to pass.

The road below reflects a silver sky,

grey-blue and dusted, tender in its hue,

while spring green wakes and evergreens reply,

their colors deepened by the falling dew.

Each ripple bends the light with quiet grace,

intention written in each trembling ring,

the world made softer in this fleeting space,

as if the rain remembers everything.

The car hums low beneath my steady feet,

and in this hush, my presence feels complete.

CAT AND DOG

Longing to be friends

But enemies to a certain end

Dog’s enthusiasm and wanting to play

Gets in the cat's way.

But they do have affection

No where close to perfection

And sometimes when you chance

To look you might catch a glance

Of familiarity and contentment

Without any resentment.

Dog laying next to gate cat on the other side

Close as they can be allied

in one ear there's an angel

the other has the devil

every time a page turns

it seems to get unlevel

the story is unfolding

before your very eyes

it doesn't take no scolding

it's never a surprise

I dance with your words

Let them consume me

Tangled like sheets

I roll in your chapters

Craving for more

As you drip from the page

Touched by your lines

I ravish the thoughts

Straddling my favorite spots

I glide slowly over them

Again and again

Till desire runs thin

Until I’m convinced

I’ve felt all your intent

Buried deep, deeply within

So give me all you have to give

Penetrate me with your pen

Cause if I reach the end and it isn’t enough

Books that I put down I don’t ever pick back up.

if ur lips on mine

claims me...

then let me stay claimed

Come here in your mind,

back between my thighs,

your cheek against my chest,

while ur fingers draw slow circles

at the nape of my neck,

teasing, calming,

keeping me right where u want me

And listen,

clear and quiet

inside our hearts and mind.

I'm yours

in every soft way

that does not cage me

yours in the way

my shoulders drop

when ur hands slide under my shirt,

yours in the way

my breath stutters

when u whisper my name

against my open mouth

yours in the way

my “mhmm”

turns into an invitation

u already know how to answer.

I just want us to be

the place our bodies and hearts

keeps choosing

to come back to,

to come apart in,

to melt completely,

until every tremor,

every sigh,

every undone piece of us

learns the same truth:

we are safe

and shamelessly wanted

right here together.

always

​

— Esa fue la fría respuesta que dio Granjero a Esopo, cuando éste le preguntó por sus hijos.

Tomado de:

"La Desaparición de Esopo".

Crónica Roja de Micenas.

Editorial Minotauro.

S. VI antes de Cristo.

Solomon de Esparta.

Solomon, una vez más. A Rasputín le empeoraba la resaca cada vez que lo encontraba agazapado entre sus propias anotaciones.

Como siempre, lo perturbaba la imagen mental del asceta vestido con ropa high tech sonriendo desde las vallas publicitarias de la 5 Sur, al mismo tiempo que soltaba verdades que no eran buenas de escuchar estando sobrio.

A pesar de lo anterior, Rasputín nunca lo pudo detestar, ya que, a la luz de los hechos, ser Filósofo en Esparta nunca fue un negocio muy rentable, y Solomon terminó siendo actuario del Primer Juzgado del Crimen de Micenas, posterior a lo cual publicó un libro —convertido en miniserie 2500 años después— que acababa de desenterrar de la sección de Archivos y Curiosidades Judiciales de su propia biblioteca, donde acumulaba con afán expedientes de casos famosos y citaciones vencidas por juicios de morosidad.

A Rasputín le intrigaba saber qué sembró la duda en Solomon en este caso en particular:

¿Acaso notó un extraño fulgor en los ojos del Granjero?

¿O sería su temperamento sanguíneo mal disimulado?

¿O fueron rencillas originadas a raíz la publicación de "El Granjero y sus Hijos", de Esopo? —que, dicho sea de paso, fue un relato que otorgó pingües ganancias al creador de "El Zorro y las Uvas."

— Hay verdades que es mejor no saber y hay otras verdades que se perdieron para siempre. — perugrulló Rasputín, mientras se estiraba con un movimiento gatuno en el bergere y bebía trabajosamente unos cuantos sorbos de michelada.

Afuera, en algún lugar, comenzaba a llover copiosamente sobre bosques de coníferas que cada atardecer engullían con sus sombras la casa del Señor Soto, mientras éste se encaminaba marchando con un leve tamboleo hacia el minibar.

revisting myself,

undertaking beyond depths,

drowning into you.

Intuition defying reality,

belief challenging data,

probability so minuscule:

a needle in a haystack.

.

At the top of the staircase,

eternity seemed to dwell,

or the gradual unbecoming

of what is mistaken as arrival.

.

Eons passed,

and the stairs turned rusty.

Metals that withstood flames

now yielded to corrosion.

Strength revised

under new condition.

.

They heard your faint echoes,

the premonition of crumbling steps,

and the weight of silent prayers

they could not say out loud.

.

Yet sometimes,

magic weaves its thread.

Beneath, a lush realm arose,

ground nurtured by rust.

.

Loss rearranging itself:

improbabilities turn real,

and the air shimmers

with whispers of renewal.

.

Time-softened earth

welcomes transformation,

still no promise of undoing.

.

Yet, nothing is truly lost,

for even from decay,

life resumes its forming.

.

And wisdom, if it exists at all,

is not at the top of the stairs,

but in the falling and regrouping,

the loss, and its slow reconfiguring.

.

-Existential

Posters grace the walls

Splashes of colour to entrall

With sunset seascape

Next to music idols

Stuck on glitter like pixie dust

Drifting about oaken cupboard

Around posters of Ganesha

Pre-Raphaelite angel tooting a horn

Flanked by movie posters

Anime, Scifi, and cartoon duck

Figurines aplenty

Grail, Buddha, and Halloween hat

Magic condenses here

Beneath push button lights

Infusing two clocks

Pooling around each display

But time here is just a notion

A fancy of invention

Neon and liquid crystal

Parade garbled digits

Lines of magnetic force

Balance the mix

Turning the room

Into the centre of the world

Right in its core

Where the Earth Spirit sleeps

Lost to a dream

Adrift in this room

Nothing is real

Gingerbread field

Enamoured eyes entice energy’s essence;

Sensuality sniffed scents suddenly slowed.

Tenderly touching temptation’s tight threshold,

Inched innocence invites intimacy—intense.

*

Delicious dreams drip desire’s disposition;

Lustfully longing lips let love’s levity last.

Gentle gestures genuinely grant giddy grasps;

Pleasure pounding pulses panted permission.

*

Midnight motions mesmerized memory might,

Hot, honed honey hummed hedonistic hooks.

Contained carnal commotion clearly cooks;

Brilliant beauty beheld, beguiled by bite.

*

Relished ripe rapture retains rekindling;

Kinetic kisses keep kind keepers kindling.

Blue bold white crackled strikes,

Sounds of movement, electric delights.

Fire to the air, streaks of might,

White currents dance in a brilliant light.

•

Perfect piecing crashes join,

Light then sound, a symphony’s coin.

Arms open wide, eyes to the sky,

Pouring down light, as the storm flies by.

•

In a glorious space, I stand,

Soaked in the bright, bold, and grand.

Clouds to ground, I’m bound,

One with the storm

Sky pouring water

Millions together form clouds

Pain condensed droplets