Because the world’s a stage

I don’t know

what you’ve been told,

about what happened

long, long ago;

but it’s happening still

and forever will.

. 

So even as

you sit around

bored or absorbed

by retold stories

of the horde you were born to,

learning the sayings and prayers

making your exit and entrance

being just merely a player,

you should come to learn,

through peace

and through violence

there’s a greater tale told

of black hole horizons,

and dreams from hadrons

collapsing in silence …

. 

… particles blinking

in and out of existence

ignoring the gravitational resistance

…………..that allows you and me

to walk around on this earth

. 

and for whatever it’s worth

whether you accept it or not

this story has got

……………………….no point.

. 

For in a curious twist

the multiiverse missed,

what no good writer ignores.

. 

Who is this story for?

The Road Away

I tried to walk the streets,

I tread when I was young;

stopping time and again,

reviewing what’s been done.

Remembered where and when,

the dreams I keep were born;

and began to comprehend,

where yesterday had gone.

 

I’d not remained to watch,

the changes going on;

and now on my return,

there was emptiness, not song.

The roads had all diverged,

and taken everything along;

and I was just one traveler now,

and very far from home.

.

 Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

Sad Song for a Lost College Lover

for KBT (and you know who you be) 

.

You’re not too sure at all  / / anymore

      if there are angels  /   /  or an afterlife  worth dying for

        you’ve crucified   /     /  the yesterdays of your life

by chasing fantasies/      /   and choosing to trade for a lie.

It wasn’t destiny    /       /     the ways you chose

                               \        \   to break and be

the road you found /       / to walk away

                              /       /  from your memories.

         And though  \       \   no one knows  

                          /        /    how many holes

                          \          \    your heart may hold

       it isn’t fair  /            /  to take those you promised to protect

                       /                /  in some misdirected step

       with you.  \                   \

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

Unmasking the heroes

Talking about numbers

and feelings as villains

and the hatred that

we have for the way

our responsibilities

have coiled around our

ankles and wrists; cut into

our necks and stopped

our breaths from shouting

for help. But it sounds

like anger directed

at each other and we

are left more alone than

ever. I speak another

language at this moment.

You are from a distant

world; a different

place where there are

words for all the things

you mean to say, but

cannot be translated

for me. I know how

we became such aliens.

You were always

different than the others,

and I was not the same.

We were infected as

children with dreams

and fell in love with

stories where we

would be the heroes.

But now there are

no escapes; we cannot

convene in some secret

cave deep beneath

our mansion. The only

power that you have

is knowing all my

weaknesses. The

only plan I can think

of is holding on to you

and being quiet until

the bad guys leave

the room.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.

Let’s agree to this

Now that we are all connected

can we declare once and for all

and forever ever that

what works best for me

may not be right for everyone else?

And that the same is true of you (plural)

and all your beliefs (super plural)

 

That maybe you’re part exotic cactus

that grows only on the rocky coasts of Aruba

and I am half moss from a crooked alley in Brooklyn.

 

That maybe looking out at the ocean

terrifies me the same way that you

can’t seem to warm up to chain link fences.

 

What I’m saying is that we should

agree that our own private histories

written on earth as events,

and stored in ourselves as memories,

twisted and told and encoded

as proteins genetically,

have manifested in ways

that affect how we

take shit in.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.

The branch that bore the second fruit

And the LORD God said, Behold, the man 

is become as one of us, to know good and evil: 

and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take 

also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever:

 Genesis 3:22

  

 All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree.

Albert Einstein

 

   Once stupidity

         has been rounded to

             a trillionth digit,

                  as we get closer

               to knowing

            god’s thoughts,

             peering deeper into

              this very persistent illusion

             with our frail and feeble minds;

        when the slight details that seemed

     like rolling dice to Einstein

   don’t have a place left to hide,

there will be born

   from science and curiosity,

      out of true love

          for waking to the world,

              baptized as the gift of fantasy –

                  a mathematical

                      equation that means

                        in every language,

                         “A table, a chair,

                           a bowl of fruit

                         and a violin“.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.