Original Poem 2

Epitaph

Here lies Mr. John
He never learned to say no.
Smoked and smoked he did,
Of that nasty, green weed,
But now what is burning is him.
-Roberto Ramos

Sonnet

In Love, Gun Control, and Determinism

It’s not a crime to hold a gun and squeeze
The trigger with one finger of your hand
To put your flesh to metal as you please
The levers and the springs at your command
It’s not a crime to feel a wave of peace
Because you’re in control of this machine
To take a breath then slowly to release
To feel the hammer dropping smooth and clean
There is no way to stop the causal chain
The strike breeds an explosion–sound and heat
The bullet’s path determined will remain
As fixed and true as love, if not as sweet
And if the gun was pointed at a heart
The crime was done before the bullet’s part
-Scott Enis

www.sonnetwriters.com

Epitaph

Here lies Mr. Albright,
His decision wasn't at all right,
nor was it bright.
Ironic is the moment,
when love turns into death.
HIV took his last breathe...
-Roberto Ramos

Free Verse

Second

One touch-
-Like death with ribbons or
Pain with sprinkles,
A beautiful package for sadness and loss.
And I loved every moment, dared to feel
Triumphant at the beginning of my own destruction.
And it was my own fault,
My own feet stepping on every ember of cautiousness.
You can't take it back, but I don't want you to.
It has been long enough, waiting in darkness
For candlelight.
And there is no such thing as
Wonderful enough.
-Katherine Foreman

www.hyperborea.org

Original Poem 1 - Epitaph

Here Lies Mr. Young
who died at age 16.
He did not take responsibility
H.I.V shaped his destiny.
Rest in peace he will,
and we will miss him.
-Roberto Ramos

Ballad

Wonder I

Wonder I, of my sin

Why unborn, why no kin.

Ask I, oh mother dear

Love me, not fear.

Cherish, beg I, not scorn

Alive am I, unborn

Live must I, in womb

Rest longer still, in tomb

“Mistake...yes”, you sigh

Ah! Hear you, pain feel I

Guilty am I? ... forgive

Punish, yes, but let live

Condemn, must you… why?

No sweet song, no lullaby?

Unwanted am I?…shun

Make haste then…be done

Sleep I, now, eternally

Wake will I, eventually?

Unknown, unheard…entombed in stone

I cry silent…I cry alone.

– Anwaar N. Hassan

September 25, 2005

Internet - Google

Lyric

Life's Tragedy


It may be misery not to sing at all,
And to go silent through the brimming day;
It may be misery never to be loved,
But deeper griefs than these beset the way.

To sing the perfect song,
And by a half-tone lost the key,
There the potent sorrow, there the grief,
The pale, sad staring of Life's Tragedy.

To have come near to the perfect love,
Not the hot passion of untempered youth,
But that which lies aside its vanity,
And gives, for thy trusting worship, truth.

This, this indeed is to be accursed,
For if we mortals love, or if we sing,
We count our joys not by what we have,
But by what kept us from that perfect thing.
-Paul Laurence Dunbar

www.google.com.mx