O tired, tiny ember!

Gray and old and cold

What gentle breeze will blow

What whispered breaths shall speak

To set your tired heart ablaze

Again, in glory, burn!

– theresurreccionofkevin



There’s four wheels in a car

Make it five for the spare

It rides, never climbs

Up a rugged mountain face

Or swim through a river

Or race along an empty street

It rides, it hides from sight

A sheet it wears to guard it

It’s safe, but blind. It rides

But cannot feel the wind

The cold of winter, summer heat

It rusts with age and dies

Never worn and never tried


I paint a smile on my face

With no makeup

Like imaginary friends

It’s all made up

But in verses I am honest

With each line and rhyme

I’m at my strongest

Because before the rest came

The friends, the love, the games

Only words were close by

And they’ve stayed with me the longest

– theresurreccionofkevin


Sometimes I just churn out

The words my brain blows out

From nothing, it shapeshifts

Sounds into substance

But most days it’s all nothing

I wish it meant something

To me, to you, to somebody

That can see beneath the body

Of the words that form the skin

Of poems and see the heart within

No matter what, I still churn out

The words my brain blows out

‘Cause the alternative’s a burnout

– theresurreccionofkevin


I’d wish I wasn’t wired

Up in plastic shells

Or miles of copper chains

I’d wish I was more fired

Up like sunfire rays

That keep me up all day

But the glow of screen

Light burns in the night

My eyes see, but vision’s

Gone. It’s all wrong

Like wires for arteries

And veins. It’s vain

To think that I am free

When I stay wired willingly

– theresurreccionofkevin


A thought is like a match’s flame

It burns the tired mind to life

And yet the fire has no care

Its passion moves it evermore

To seek more kindling for its throat

It hungers, drives the body mad

In haste, desiring it to act

Upon its ancient urges set ablaze

A splash of water of the flame

Will temper madness once unchecked

Refining passion’s blurring speed

It turns precise within the cold

Just like a blade, once hellish hot

Is cooled and dried. And only then,

Once honed, it does its proper work.

– theresurreccionofkevin


Just like a drop of coffee in a pot

It spends its birth with form outstretched

A yearning, longing to be free

From home. With weight and gravity

It learns and leans and wrenches free

Alive at last, it plummets to its end.

Perfected in a moment’s time

And living in a moment’s time

But in a moment’s time, is gone