A Heart So Hollow

Oh how graced I must be to walk the hallowed halls
of that thing you call a heart.
A cold draft follows me out, for even the air is stale
and needs an escape.
Who knew one could contain so deep a chasm in one's chest.
A canyon for the viewing of passerby.
So hollow, the rhythmic beating resounds in ears miles away.
A drum of warning, come no closer,
for you might fall in. In fact, you may never hit bottom.
A free fall that comes with a price.

How proud you must be, for you are certainly one of a kind.

poem by Argentine Tango
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Moon-kissed Daisies

I lay myself upon the hills of grass
My brunette curls they wrap around the daisies
Their faces lit by starlight, moon and fairies
That dance out of my dreams in shoes of glass

Then Pitter Patter clouds begin to cry
I laugh delighted at the thunder's roar
My fingers dipped in mud have seized life's core
Life sees me clear through so surreal an eye

My thoughts leap forth and dance upon the hills
They intermingle, time their only curse
For as the sun must rise so must immerse
Those thoughts in sense and time again until

The spell once more is cast and breathe I will
Aromas only moon-kissed daisies spill

poem by Argentine Tango
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You Are The Last Snowfall

You are the last snowfall before the Spring
My mouth catches your snowflake kisses
Knowing that all too soon only reminiscence
Will savor your evanescent being

You come and go like the changing seasons
And just as I settle into one sort of climate
You appear and I must again acclimate
But a heart in love knows no reason

My emotions oscillate to and fro
As does the question of your presence
Each meeting is bitter sweet in essence
For in earnest of your promised visit I await you, though

I must despair at the turn of a new day
For at sunrise you shall be with me no more
No matter how persistently I beg you to stay

But go you must, and even a heart in love

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poem by Argentine Tango
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The Dance Thief

The masked figure took to the dance floor and
as he twirled his wicked hands and spun wildly around
he cast frightful shadows in
the vacant space that haunt me still

Like limbs of a tree whose life winter has taken
Ashen and disfigured like the forsaken remains
of a fire's last consumption

And as he danced the lights overhead receded
and with him the record cackled louder
The notes slipped into a shaky minor chord
and soon I was emptied -
drained and paralyzed from all he'd stolen

For the song no longer played my heart strings
and my soul broke into a half note
My precious glistening wooden floor boards that
once bore my prancing feet
had been banished from my presence

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poem by Argentine Tango
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Night's Ink

I wield this pen only after sundown
For the blackness of night supplies the ink
Fresh dew drops gather to form a crown
On the wild grasses, jewels that glisten in sync
With those in the dark satin dome overhead
What earthly beauty could ever compare
To such overwhelming vastness unending
How small and irrelevant to all of existence are we

Oh, if I could but play a bigger part
Be the aligner of planets
The crosser of stars
The one to lasso Halley's comet
To be more than a speck of dust gathered
On a shelf in the house of eternity
To be more than one dying cell that soon won't matter
In this great organism called the galaxy

To wield a pen with never-ending ink
And seal my words with the stamp of significance

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poem by Argentine Tango
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Where Is The Passion? Where Is The Fight?

Where is the passion?
Where is the fight?
You once had a fire that
burned bright through the night
It shone through the mud you wallowed in
It shone through grief you were swallowed in
It outshone Hell's flames that licked at your heels
It outshone the light Death's door to you revealed

Where is the passion?
Where is the fight?
You once had a spirit of
Incomparable might
It pushed you to excel and to overcome
It pushed you out from under Plight's thumb
It fought against those who said you never could
It fought harder still because you knew you would

Where is the passion?
Where is the fight?

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poem by Argentine Tango
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Night In A Foxhole

I sit in a foxhole with two other men
One of them sleeps while the other lies dead
Just three more long hours ‘til my nightly watch ends
But sleep will not instill rest in my head

Battle wounds are revealed by the moon
As the beams search our faces so aged
Finding not the tears internally kept, for as soon
As they were wept they were caged

Bombs sleep in their shells ‘til commanded ahead
Ready to burst like something unsaid
They whisper smoke and shake hands with destruction
They bring silent scenes with ears that don't function

Brothers, so many, eternally bound
By the blood that we've spilled here upon the ground
By the stains on our souls of the lives that we've taken
By the doubt that has found us, and our hope it has shaken
By the haunting memories that knock on Night's door

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poem by Argentine Tango
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Beloved Haunting Memory

Oh how you haunt me,
blessed memory of my beloved!
You wake me every morn'
and twice from my dreams.
How jealous you are of my slumber!
You appear as a reverberating echo when
someone's footsteps sound so similar to his stride.
I've heard that pattern a thousand times over
every floor surface imaginable.
You grip me when someone takes hold of my shoulder.
I turn to find only your face and a stranger's,
but not that of my beloved.
Dear memory, you are dipped in cologne, wear his hat,
stole his laugh and feign ghostly kisses that stain my lips.
Sometimes I wish you were as intangible as he, but mostly my sweet,
you are the blanket he wrapped 'round me when I was cold.
You are the words of solace sung off his breath
that still my heart and soul.
You are my companion as we walk familiar streets
linked arm in arm.

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poem by Argentine Tango
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Poisonous Words, Sinking Ship

You stand by watching silently
as I rake up the pieces of my heart
You tilt your head as if confused
as I stoop down to gather the shards
back to my chest
But some pieces are bent
and the puzzle cannot be completed as before
A different, demented picture it must now make
I move to sit, to stop and think and you,
you stay where you are
I fumble my heart in my hands
trying in vain to make everything fit
and with each wrong trial I feel
a stabbing sensation within
but detached, an external force
that afflicts me internally

Oh wait, perhaps that's just you

But you don't seem to grasp

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poem by Argentine Tango
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