Poetic License: November 2002 Online Poetry Journal

A Time for Change
by Alin

Next to the Gods
by Pedro R. Briones

Untitled

Mom and the Mideast
by Sarah D

[Industry]
by Elsa Kim

submit a poem
for next month's edition

go to current edition

october 2002
august 2002
july 2002
june 2002
may 2002
april 2002
march 2002
february 2002
january 2002
december 2001
november 2001
october 2001
september 2001
august 2001
july 2001
june 2001
may 2001

Next to the Gods
by Pedro R. Briones

Next to the Gods Julio,

-You lay down with a false ambition of becoming one of them,

but you are only a twin drop from their music-

In there, exist the ashes,

wind and spoiled blood;

in your notebook paper, your clothes, dreams and desires of dissatisfaction

(the same ones that are writing these...the words).

But it is pointless,

everything is lost.

The Gods lost themselves

in our somber and dark awakening in the mornings,

in the crying that eats us,

(and decomposes us)

in the ink that this pen so unconsciously spills.

I'm neighbor to one of them,

I go with him every morning

-Neighbor to the chaos that makes the soul be quiet,

and closes the eye to the loved woman.-

There it comes, a rose walking between the garden, you take the rose very softly and whispers her
in her ears. After that you would be able to write all
that you want, and maybe, it will become true, but don't listen to me...I do not know if it is true
what I'm saying.

Tomorrow you will wake up again, Julio,

to walk between ponds or tears,

between dreams that sit down to rest their misfortunes;

and that some boyfriend looks for it under a skirt

...and the innocence is lost, you lost it, it has lost itself...

Could you open your wings and sear them in the sun,

for there is ample time to burn your sins and throw your spasms to God

carrying your sadness on your shoulders,

and maybe wield a pen as a sword on the pocket?

This is nothing more than a new place you are knowing

and that you're touching with innocent childish hands;

revived for you as a very sweet lament.

(Words to eschew everything I tell you)

What a savage tradition is the one you are following.

Leave the night to the one, who dreams it,

to the one who is able to describe it without fear,

because next to the Gods

the night wraps you up as a song.

...Do not play anymore Julio...

Are you a God like Them or like Us?

next poem>>