Last In Line Kindle Book

Last in Line by Ernesto Mora Download for Kindle

The emergency broadcast alarm sounds off. I am disturbed, out of my sleep. But what’s more disturbing is what I now see on the screen. Could this be real? Is this some sort of hoax? I don’t know, but there’s something to the tone of the man’s voice, that is leaving me unsettled. I think I better take this seriously.

Episode 8: Poetry Reading – I Will Not Mourn You

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s reading of “I Will not Mourn You”

***

I will not cry for you at all,
there is within me a resolve so cold and dressed in apathy,
so uncaring with the meager,
such a black and forlorn room that I dwell in from moment to moment.

This room has become my progenitor,
my mentor, the study of anger without remorse,
I am this room, its walls draped in the torn flesh of that which I’ve chewed upon,
and spit with delighted disgust as the pleas echoed in the darkest corridors beyond this doorless room.
It is this room that I weep for if in fact I do weep,
but as I weep I continue to tear apart countless heart.

I will not cry for other than this void,
for in this void I have been shown the evil without and beyond those tattered walls.
so uncaring with the meager, such a black and forlorn room that I dwell in from moment to moment.
This room has become my progenitor, my mentor, the study of anger without remorse,
I am this room, its walls draped in the torn flesh of that which I’ve chewed upon,
and spit with delighted disgust as the pleas echoed in the darkest corridors beyond this doorless room.
It is this room that I weep for if in fact I do weep, but as I weep I continue to tear apart countless heart.
I will not cry for other than this void, for in this void I have been shown the evil without and beyond those tattered walls.

Pablo Neruda – Quotes

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”

― Pablo Neruda, Love: Ten Poems

Little hands

I hold onto your little hand
and feel the stories untold
a bond ancient
and your eyes take hold
be it into the night
or into the vivid day
I will always hold your little hand
onto the blackest of frays.

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.

Episode 7 :The Raven By Edgar Allan Poe read by Ernesto Mora

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s reading of “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe.

Episode 6: Friend

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s poem ” Friend”.

I’ve a friend I can’t explain, he is night and shade and pain,
gentle as he gnaws my bones, and his voice is as the rain.
His is the gloom, his berth and shroud, herald of lament, patron of the disavowed.
Moon so pale, stars collapsed, the baying wolves snarl and snap,
promenade in the fetid garden, hand in desecrated hand clasped.

Seated he on cathedra inverted, hassock skin and flesh perverted,
crown of darkest pumice stone, so reigns he, upon such indecorous throne.

His the voice of madness and woe, lyric that sets the sun, song of sorrow,
sonant of the midnight mass, perched on cloud of black, between the twilight and morrow.
Such derision for the soil, growth be burdened, wilt and spoil,
maiden dance with blade in hand, to the lord naught be loyal.

His the wine of supplication, vintner of the most foul lamentation,
bitter grapes with seed of ire, chalice filled with lies and liars.
His the feast of avarice, cuisinier of rapacious artifice,
On silver plate with silver-tongue,
you tie your noose, the hangman comes.

His the scent of fallen rain, petrichor, deluge of pain,
I’ve a friend I can’t explain, without face and without name,
folie and fatigue, his is ceaseless romp and play,
and the rain, it seems, never goes away…

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