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Luis Castillo

of

Santa Ana, CA, US

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Untitled

by

Luis Castillo

How lonesome comes death in desperate hours,
all the mysteries are solved unwanted,and
unvainly vile discarded.
Deep and brilliant master puppeteers destroy
majestic timely sand castles built with love,
and the waters wash them off.
Still it stays, slow and dark become the days,
strange wind songs of sadness guide the waves.
The beat of heartache is so great, that the dry
of the sleeves.
Kill all feelings and the cheer.
Leave the trace scattered and thrown left to clean up
on the floor.


Untitled

by

Luis Castillo

Stepping stone by jaged stone,
on the worthy choice of life.
Still you have no trust, and
the silence that is just, makes
you wish on painted faces and the
prophecy a must.
Slowly the book unravles.
For the power of the strong and the
clues of where or when, Gathers the weak to
bow and worship, to the feet of these mystic
magic men.
Who brouht these men to glory?
Was it the obligation?
Was it a Coronation?
Was it the slick, invented motivation of
this poor, decaying congragation.
I don't know where I'm going, and this sick
infested vine produces bitter tasteless wine.