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Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal  (email)

 

 

SINISTER DEEDS

 

The boy was bred for sinister deeds.

Wealth or fame did not impress him.

His strength was his determination.

He was free of compassion and love.

 

His heart was half sand, half sawdust.

His friends soon became strangers.

His ideals were of a different sort.

He was unloved.  He was feared.

 

The boy did not rest until his prey

became his victims.  He was not sated

with a just a pint of blood.  His life

was the life of a leach, of a vampire.

He was immortal in life and his only

wish was for his life to end and die.

 

 

RUNNING OUT OF TIME

 

I am running out of time.

I cannot go back.

It is useless to start all over.

If I return, I will only

be running in circles.

I canít be a child anymore.

Iím half the man I could be.

Itís a strange feeling.

The race is nearly over.

Soon I will smell the roses.

I will be just another corpse.

 

 

BAD NEWS

The Sunday paper
heavy with bad news
of life after life
gone from this world.
It was difficult to hold.
Death does not stop.
Death is the smudge

which cannot be
flicked off.  I toss the
newspaper out
feeling bad for myself.

 

 

NATUREíS KISS

 

Did you inherit the breeze

when your house blew away

along with its garden,

with natureís kiss of death?

Where are you going to live

in all this darkness and no lamp?

There is no bread or light.

Your estate is all over the interstate.

You learned to shout at nature,

who brought a curse to your door.

It trampled on your flowers.

Where are you going to live

with no bed or couch to lie on?

You demand justice, but nature

only offers a coffin.

 

 

TURNING LIFE INTO BLOOD

 

In his angry heart

he passes judgment

looking to appear strong,
but the eyes do not lie.

 

He stands with his friends,
who laugh with him a
laughter painful to hear.

His lying eyes turns life

into blood for oil.