Word Is Bond Poetry

Henry Pablo III

God Poem

Death is the destiny we all hold softly. So humble me.
Life is but a vapor, slowly suspended in time,
Waiting to be whisked by your breath O God
I am tired of living my life, moving through the motions,
Calling myself a follower, calling myself faithful.
However, I am no expert, just merely guessing and underdeveloped.
I am trying to seek you in the bible, in the wind,
In my mother’s eyes but I am blinded
By your Holy Throne, made of lightning, and eternal seraphim
That pleads of your holy, holy, holiness. Guard yourself.

For you, O God, a thousand times over.
My branches are full and my orchards are heavy,
We are the clay and you are the potter. So mold me.
Mold me into the man that you want me to be, the lamb
That you want me to be, the sun, the son that you want me to be.
If it means bellowing in the darkest valleys
Or howling in the highest mountains, I will seek you.
Shouting vicariously with my tears O God,
You are the magnificent thunder, which I cower in, silent yet powerful.
I am trying to seek you O God, I am trying to seek you.

We all move through life simple minded,
There is no fork in the road, no road less traveled by, just a jungle.
Thinking that we have to keep on moving, running,
Hurling, cursing forget yous to the moon and back.  
But when we move to fast, worrying about tomorrow,
We miss the beauty of today. O how beautiful your jungle is
And by your grace O God, we are sorry.
Awe is my heart I am holding still. 
My knees, bent in prayer, are not supporting me anymore, you are.

So please, fellow sinners,
Listen to the narrative of his word,
Look around, behold, and grasp it.
Grasp it like it is your time to greet him
And never let it go, from everlasting to forevermore. 

Look at the birds, question why they choose to stay in the same place,
When they can fly anywhere in the world.
Then ask yourself the same question.
Question where do they go in their sleep.
Then ask yourself the same question.           
Question where do they travel in their dreams. 
Then ask yourself the same question.
I dream of desert, of more dreams, of you O God. 
I wish to fly to your presence.

I am trying to seek you.

My prayers are silenced by your brail tongue O God.
Move me through life, and have me continue to seek you.
Our bodies ephemeral, yet our spirit eternal. 
I want to gaze at your glory, sleep softly by your presence.
And so hold me, until I mistake my hands for yours. 

The Buildings, The Architecture, The History

We all go through our daily lives missing the marvels of our time
Always looking forward and never looking up.
We miss the marble, the grandeur, the tombstones, the history.
Cities of gold are turned to oil, cigarette smoke, weary bodies, and tainted   progression. 

Always looking forward and never looking up
Our necks become brittle tree branches, not growing, but ready to snap.
Cities of gold are turned to oil, cigarette smoke, weary bodies, and tainted progression
That slowly has us exchange aesthetic nostalgia for blind sentimentality. 

Our necks become brittle tree branches, not growing, but ready to snap
Into two insignificant pieces. The romantic architecture crumbles into hollowness and regret
That slowly has us exchange aesthetic nostalgia for blind sentimentality.
We seek to get better only at the benefit of losing a piece of ourselves.

Into two insignificant pieces, the romantic architecture crumbles into hollowness and regret.
Two pieces that will never be brought back together and refined to what it was once.
We seek to get better only at the benefit of losing a piece of ourselves,
A piece that we will never get back because we always miss the marvels of our time. 

No one is watching the throne…

“It’s just protecting the music and the culture.
It’s people that are in the forefront of the music.
Watch the Throne, you protect it.”
- Jay Z


Deep embedded masculinities, crack remedies
Curse word dentistry that will leave your mouth rotten.
If Conway Collins picked a stock of curly cotton
Spun that money, you throw it in the air, man have you forgotten.
Times are different but you seem like you want to regress.
Life is a game, boxed in our board just like a game of chess.
Always commanding your beautiful queen to undress.
Thinking highly of yourself, King, forgetting the rest.
What’s a God to a bunch of pawns who are nonbelievers? 
If we wanted to, we can just quickly stand up and leave you.
Corner liquor store narratives, guns popping from the start.
What happened to the old ways where you guys had heart?
You’re the lost one, I kind of feel bad for you son. 
Yes, I have 99 problems where you’re not the only one.  

The Wall

I push myself when backed against the wall
While breathing hard but comrades not at all.
To sleep in humble beddings one more night
And wake to see the sun with morning bright.
But if I die with metal meld with blood
May the Gods end this battle with a flood.

“Unsheathe your darkest demons!” dare I say.
For Hell has come to take your soul away.
With swing and slash move slowly to your hearts
I pray to pay respect to you in parts.
May fury lend me strength to ease this pain
To advance, break past the shields and cause you bane.

If the Gods end this battle with a flood,
Then I have died with metal meld with blood. 
Not wake to see the sun with morning bright,
Not sleep in humble beddings one more night. 
Not breathing hard with comrades all in all.
To fail and to be backed against the wall. 

To The Girl In My Calculus Class,

Sitting up front, four seats from the left,
As the limit of I moves to you,
Together we are infinity.

Did I tell you I really love math?
You are an unknown variable,
Perched in a transcendental function,
That hopefully one day I can solve. 

Your smile is like a parabola:
Your back, like an integration sign,
Your heart, like a coordinate plane,
Which one-day I hope to intersect.

To you, I’m but a bounded sequence,
An indeterminate expression,
Which L’Hopital can’t even reach.
We are simply two parallel lines,
Same slope, two different equations,

Two, that will not ever be the same. 

DeLorean

Sometimes I want to move backwards. Like that
Hummingbird, opulent, with wings that quiver to the sun
And whose beak is as archaic as the ways we used to know.
I didn’t ask to grow old. Wisdom was all I wanted.  

It was a cordial summer hour.
Where lemonade would accompany front porch stories
And playground swings would touch the sky.
My pockets would be empty but I didn’t care
Just like the hummingbird, who can fly backwards
Into and out of the sun.

I remember that summer day. Vivid
Howling with the brisk breeze. And now
As I sit on the porch, pockets still empty,
I wait for my DeLorean to come, that hummingbird,
That halcyon infinite creature
That can flash into forever.

Things are different. The grass has grown
But no one wants to cut it.
I didn’t ask to grow old. Wisdom was all I wanted
And so I wait for my DeLorean to come, that hummingbird.
That opulent saccharine hummingbird. 

Poem I[IV]III

When your wind stops blowing.
When your heart stops beating.
When your knees fall in love with the ground.
I will try even harder.

When your light laments in darkness. 
When your reason drowns in pride.
When your hands become magnets. 
I will try even harder. 

I will hug you like a prayer
Toss a coin in the air, catch it,
Showing you the stories you write are yours to keep.
The pen in which you write in is sweet. 
Your bookshelves are overflowing.
Your paper is made out of love. 
Did I tell you that your library is beautiful?

My ears are waiting to be asked to dance.
My mind is a dusty jukebox waiting to be played.
My feet want to scream. 
My hands want to be mistaken for yours.
My soul wants to dive into the ocean I call you
Be bitten by your sharks, carried by your whales,
And sleep in the bosom of your coral reef. 
As we vicariously try to find laughter
In each other’s eyes.

When you fall,
I will make sure to throw this threefold chord
Remind you of smiles.
Pull you up.
Then try
Even harder. 

"Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars" - Buddy Wakefield

There is something about this poem that captures me like nostalgia in a time of struggle.  

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