Mud on a Trail

At times, life is not enough.

To touch, feel, even breathe....Lack.

All these lack.

Lack in filling a man.

Lack in igniting.

Sparking a joy seen in pictures.

There is romance in believing our

fates are written in blood.

But look back, check the footprints.

Our fates are written in mud.

The mud of the dead, the murdered love

and the aborted days we feared to wake to.

Just mud on a trail.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

A Life Spent

The rain came and went

Like my life already spent.

I listened to the clouds roll by

A blue and receptive sky.

I knew my day had changed,

My steps could be unmade.

I held the promise so tight,

Showered by the rainbow’s light.

I held my son’s hand,

Together we could stand.

I listened to the earth grow

As she pushed aside the stone.

The roses strained toward the sun

as we firmly took step one.

5/26/2006

copyright 2006 salvador cordova

Alone in the Dark

The years burned away.

Like a grassfire out of control,

‘Til all you have left is a

smoldering black mark in your path

that’ll burn you each time you tread there.

You ask yourself what your time is worth,

Waiting for heroes that don’t exist.

Praying for miracles that don’t occur.

Hope flies away like that

Last ray of sunlight before dusk,

Leaving you alone in the dark.


copytright 2007 salvador cordova

GOOD IS LONG GONE

My home is out in the desert.

Where the scorpion live inside the cattle bone.

All that was once good is long gone.

All that was filthy remains so.

All the rest hid long ago.

Stumblin’ across this dust, this dust and pain.

Shouldering the blame for Judas, for Cain.

The blood spilled on the bones.

The scorpion searched for the flesh that bled.

Those who believe pray for rain.

Those who do not, chew the dirt and kill the snake.

I’ve seen love die and I’ve seen her take.

Take gold, take souls and take men from their homes.

Breathe in the poison of her name.

Swallow the day in which she came.

Fall amongst the dust and pain.

Kill the snake and curse the rain.

The years between life and death

You don’t really die when your heart stops. Most people die long before that. See, a little bit of you dies each time a dream dies. When you realize you’ll never be President, a piece of you dies. Then you realize you’ll never be a sports star or movie star, more of you dies. Then you realize you’ll never have enough money and more of you dies. You try to replace those dreams with better ones but all you gain is more death because those dreams will whisk by as well. The nail in your coffin comes when you realize the biggest dream of all, what has been packaged so beautifully since childhood for you, doesn’t exist. The Blue Prince you dreamed of or the Damsel in Distress you were supposed to save will never be and you find yourself in bed with someone you can’t stand and thirty years have passed by and, really you’re dead. Sure you wake up dress yourself and eat and work and pay bills and sweat at night with someone you never really knew, but that’s not living. There’s no passion in your day, no emotions because all hope is dead. The light you should emit from within has flickered out. Your soul, because that’s what life is not blood pressure and heartbeats, is dead.