HUMAN
We are deep...............We are shallow
We are one.................And many
We lose sleep.............We die
Come back to life.......Then cry
Human we are............Children at heart
Mature at the end.......But always apart
We are weak...............We are strong
To each other.............And to none belong
Death defies us..........We defy death
On top of worlds.........But under the sun
Immortal in race.........Yet so little time
In our simplicity..........We are sublime
When next we meet.....Remember this
Though my beliefs.......Though my domain
May be different...........MayBe not the same
Blood of my heart........Runs under my skin
Runs Ruby Red............I'm but human within!
PEACE
About the Creator
Victor Mendez
Born in 1958.There's a lot of road beneath these feet.Worn out pairs upon pairs of shoes.Been a ranch kid,a city kid,a Marine,a dad, a grandfather now,an avid reader and just recently began writing poetry in 2015 just to vent.
Keep reading
More stories from Victor Mendez and writers in Poets and other communities.
Beauty Is in the Eye
I have no tattoos embedded on my skin. Tattoos have meanings. I have found none that can yet embody the meaning of my soul, therefore, I have none. My tattoos are in my words, they are fluid, like the blood coursing in my veins. They are imbedded in my heart and occasionally, when I cannot contain them any longer, they spill onto the white of a page and in black ink, I show you my tattoo. If you can see past the wreck of my ineptitude, perhaps, you will see into my soul! To see who I really am, a pensive animal luxuriating in the beauty of thought!
By Victor Mendez5 years ago in Poets
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.