What happens by Darren Clasio

What happens.

What happens when morals and ethics are abolished,

When hurt, turns into bottles polished.

What happens when you traumatize,

when you neutralize and disconnect yourself from everyone you love.

What happens when you burn bridges,

when you put vital incisions, and finally drop the atomic bomb.

What happens when it’s you against the world,

when you want to run away,  and you say what you need to say.

But what you needed to say, is thrown away.

Thrown away like the dialogue pregnant with anger,

Words spoken but not meant, bent on destruction.

What happens.

What happens when you put everything you love in a ball,

when you throw it up and swing at it with a bat.

What happens when you watch it burn.

when you light a matchstick, and watch it fall into a gas puddle,

as you stutter the words meant to be outspoken,

your token to resolution, but one ingredient was missing.

What happens when you don’t let time heal,

Spending everyday that should have been silent, making the layers of your heart peel.

What happens when it makes you sloppy,

when you are not yourself.

What happens when you get lost,

when you lose your way, when your morals are found at the bottom of a bottle,

or an ash tray.

What happens, when you become your worst nightmare.

Love

2/17/10

A cigarette, a bud, a joint,

point taken,

look a little deeper at the features of a paper cylinder,

that is filled in and burned,

an addiction, the friction between your lips and its depths

of a quicker death bed don’t flow into your head,

as brain cells die, and fry to their demise.

Oh, how I despise a secondhand death,

one inhale, one breath flares my nostrils,

appalling as my imagination goes into its evil recreation and amusement,

the thought of loved ones, long gone from existence when they could

have spent a few more years loving us.

If they kept their bodies pure of tar, the love they’d show for us would shine

like a star,

maybe a few less trips to the bar for some relaxation for your liver,

my lip quivers at the thought of addictions

ruining people around me,

enough to suffice and feed my anger,

is this the price to pay?

How will you live today?

2/3/10

Sick as a dog,

Like a 4x4 waterlogged by the rain,

the pain in my eyes conduct a symphony

of sniffs and coughs that send an unpleasant feeling down my throat.

I cannot think straight,

the intervals of trying to shrug off this sickness

has not been making a difference since the started.

My body aches like an earthquake,

the plate tectonics I call my insides rumble me back and forth.

My state of mind is jumbled,

I’m in the 4th quarter, 2 yards from touchdown,

about ready to touch the ground, face first,

but into a soft bed, a resting place for my heavy head.

Heavy from the stress, the mess of my bodily fluids

should do it for me, I’m ready to give up,

I fought the battle for today, for tomorrow I’ll fight it a better way.

this is a little personal.

At age 3 or 4 I met my father for the first time,

He married my mom and with all I am,

I accepted this man in my life, the husband to this wife,

little to know my life would be changed.

Let’s fast forward to the first time he disowned me, so I let it be.

Until the weight of his grudges, like boulders on my shoulders,

I was bolder than him until the anger in my heart,

kick started the gas pedal of hate that filled me with him.

“I hate you.” You never talked to me or supported what I do.

“I hate you.” You never taught me manners, to be a man, I never knew,

until I learned without you.

“I hate you.” For those grudges you couldn’t forgive, I hate the fact you didn’t say, “I love you.” to me.

But above what I thought of you I saw a light not to fight, but a righteousness,

I learned how to love, I found God, and learned how to forgive and repent,

because it was meant to solidify the mold my father made out of me.

But how can you work if you’re not there?

Countless times I stare out and regret if it was just,

like rust on a bolt, it’s getting old.

This routine and nature, of my life, this husband to this wife.

My father, we have some work to do.

Sonnets.

OCTOBER 28 2008

Raindrops in the winter time are coming,
like sunny days love comes and goes too fast,
Each season passes and I keep running,
Away from my troubles safely at last,
Your sweet love came and never left my heart,
You are like no other you care so much,
Despite the big distance we have apart,
Let’s make our own pace there is no need to rush,
We forgive and forget our past mistakes,
That we are still young, stupid, immature,
We learn to love with passion, never hate,
We grow each day, the pains we have endured,
Raindrops, they fall in the spring, winter, fall,
Don’t let teardrops drop from your face at all.

Something got me to write this.

Silence by Darren Clasio

Silence.

Violence torn down walls of how silence can penetrate,

or even violate a conversation, hesitation from speaking.

Silence can also be, golden.

Unfolding the truth not through words, but through actions,

body language is known world wide, no reason to hide,

I abide to my morals, and when I’m speak I preach my word, no, His word.

A verb, to speak.

Glistening words slur out of lips, as the ends of words send chills from my spine,

to the hips.

Dip your head in the water where words flow into the brain,

and you have so much speech to hold,

but you choose when to, and when not to, that’s why silence is gold.

This is the stuff I write down and forget to put up :)

1/22/10

Persevere, through the tears and the angst.

Forget the fears you have kept inside and fly in the clouds of inspiration.

Let your mind rest on a pillow where you think of everything and anything.

To evade the pains of discouragement,

to represent who you are without using your outer shell,

and to be the living proof of change.

To exceed in the goals set, with work in the standards of extraordinary

content.

Be happy with the talents blessed upon your soul,

the contribution to these people, who need your talent to step up theirs,

The caring in their hearts beat blood as red as the wild animals roaring in your

veins that are tamed by your craftsmenship.

Be bold like the letters of your work, be bold like the words you type,

to italicize your devotions, to capitalize the first letter of your passion,

and let your love for it stand like an uppercase letter.

Connect the dots, the spots on your brain, the nerves, the membranes

that made the outlines, not trace them.

but learn from others, and grow from each other, to develop something different.

Eureka ‘10

Live for Today by Darren Clasio

Live for today.

You have 7 days in a week to make a change,

and every moment not cherished is wasted.

We live, when we do what we love,

but in this busy world, we anticipate of what the future is made of.

We spend our lives waiting, debating on if our lives our worth while,

when one of the best things you can do is making someone smile.

That’s a difference, a change.

A simple act of love, and to do what you love.

Make your days full of love, so when you’re 50 you can say,

I live for today.

Live for today.

You have 7 days in a week to make a change,

and every moment not cherished is wasted.

We live, when we do what we love,

but in this busy world, we anticipate of what the future is made of.

We spend our lives waiting, debating on if our lives our worth while,

when one of the best things you can do is making someone smile.

That’s a difference, a change.

A simple act of love, and to do what you love.

Make your days full of love, so when you’re 50 you can say,

I live for today.