She, herself, sighs like an angelic virgin.
Let the calm winds glide fluently
On the forgotten plains of gentle flesh.
Through pure dreams of wet visibility,
Her slumberous mind is in production.
Let not,
The night of a thousand nightmares,
Consume her exiled mind.
And while balancing, on silvery strings
Of dew, she is freed from innocence.
Through thoughts of confession, she weeps.
And through discomfort, misses her voluptuaries. -MILO
I have poured myself
Into the depths of the
Darkest oceans to where
There is no escape.
Pure isolation to which
Everyone will soon succumb.
Mornings of emerald,
Sweet delight.
Crystal figures dance,
Disassociated twilight.
The truth is laid out in-front
Of me within the vast blue sea.
The search of universal existence
Is formed in a parody.
While the construction of heavenly
Empires fade beyond my eyes,
I drown into a void of silence.
She, the sea.
Clings to me. -MILO
Highway Celebration (Death)
Carcass, flesh torn
And crucified.
All went too well.
All memories went
Out the window,
As the eyes stare
Toward the headlights.
Desert morning came too soon,
Not enough time for the moon
To bathe and and be covered
In wine.
Mysterious night, angels in flight.
Glorious couple blooming,
While the sun rises behind them,
Ghosts are welcoming them.
Rubber burns.
Flesh rips and flies.
A sudden awakening gives
Birth to the mind.
Can you see?
Desperately.
Set them free.
Like birds caught above
A summer breeze, let them be. -MILO
Past is Poison
(all poems are owned)
I shall scale the great mountain covered
In a pale white sheet of frozen tales
Hidden and blanketed throughout time.
And gaze into the sky on an empty night,
Forever looking up towards the God’s.
There! You see?
Upon many civilizations, beaten, battered and
Torn through the histories, so many lives
Forsaken and taken away from others arms,
Give birth to running red rivers.
And through all these words and memories
I say to you, let them be.
Do not change anything but your mind.
Run wild and don’t look back.
For if the past catches up to you,
You will be isolated in a chair
Towards the gloomy corner of a room.
Your minds eye poisoned.
For the mind cannot be held back.
Do not let it be a prototype of the body,
Run with it!
Use it!
Until the day comes when tears
Fall from your gentle eyes
Staring towards the burning satellites. -MILO
Touch
(all poems are owned)
Human, I found you.
You found me inhumane.
Upon a star you wished
And your wish had fallen.
Out of billions you came.
A celestial chance given.
Precision at a glance.
At last its been taken.
Digital dream of perfection
With moderate electrical interference.
Static shock.
Blackened.
Ghostly touch.
Awaken.
The Wheel
(all poems are owned)
At a sudden awakening in the heat
Of night, shingles torn,
People bleeding and all that was
Well rested failed to comprehend
A glorious sunrise that soon took
Shape in the hours to come.
My mad children, there are plenty
Of oceans to rid yourselves from
Psychotic dreams and rinse yourselves
From war torn nightmares.
Only the blind can be fed such bullshit
From well suited shit artists.
“Excuse me, where will go when the
Moon implodes?”
Only to another star, another life.
The wheel, of course, will only keep
Spinning if you separate your mind
From the thin thread of illusion.
Dogs scattered in wrinkled meat along
The side of the highway.
Old women with warts and unshaven legs
Cradle there feline friends between their
Arms, while their children beg for a meal.
I call to you, Apollo, to set ablaze this world
Of stupidity well hidden inside beauty.
A glorious sacrifice that only the angels can lament.
Give the wheel one more turn elsewhere. -MILO
Thought
What glorious morning dew
Nestles above my brow.
Weeping birds and swaying trees
Collide within the blanketing wind.
Hold thee close with a broad breast,
Gather the angels tightly between the wings.
But wait, the Poets,
The Underground Fallen Angels
Of the mystical misunderstood words
Gather only to create visions from
Such experience of life.
The drunken knights of
The square table cheer on those
Who fear reality of a sense bound
To cradle us with it’s gloomy sensation.
To those who fear,
To those who wait,
Run toward the town
There is a great blazing fire
Sacred and crowned. -MILO
