Posted in Poetry, Writing

The Best is Yet to Come

It was another solstice morning, nothing special, nothing odd. Birds sung at the top of their lungs. A refreshing breeze, flowed with ease. Brims, magical whims, fondly trickled, in sprinkles. My, my, those thoughts, surely fly. As I watched time pass by, and by, rivers of hidden smiles, it became apparent. That I was the child, of a sole parent. Spoiled rotten, my wishes, never forgotten. Though today, I was tardy for class. A rare feat. When roosters tweet, am forever on my feet. As visions swiftly faded, allowing reality to be traded, atop my exile seat, I soared, set to eat. Yet, today’s dreams seized the best of me. Now, I must hurry, my eyes still blurry. A new town is no reason to frown. I must wash down, and aim for downtown. Alice overslept too, weary of the move, fell off her groove. I mused if I ought to sham being sick, after all, I possess the wit. But slothfulness is foolishness, my daintiness, shall never ruin. I released my pillow, bravely, as I thought about Daisy. Then, for the window I strolled about. In view, blissful trees pranced to the whistle of the wind. Oh, what an emotive swim. My heart filled to the brim.

“Excuse my tardiness, dear lad.
Would tea and toast, make thee glad?”

The table top was fixed to perfection, nourishing, with loads of affection. Exquisite scents, nurturing and calming, as a crafted chandelier, welcoming cheer. Sometimes, a single tear would appear, I ignored it, and sipped on root beer. My tummy was inpatient, growling to the sounds of Beethoven, while my favourite biscuits, baked in the oven. For the forgiving, in morals and values, stood, while others, very well understood. That in sainthood, childhood is found, and it lays the ground, for those to be crowned. I looked forward to a fortunate, boundless day. Be as it may, forever and always. Standing tall, shoulders back, I was ready for class… life… an eternal hour glass.

“The carriage is here, child.
Dash positively, and be not defiled.”

Alice was the gentlest of nannies, hotly, in each nook, and every cranny. She procured noble care of me, even, when we heartily disagreed. Therefore, I was never alone, and always felt, that I belonged. Such a precious gift, to be cared for, and kissed. My poise was never low, for surely, I am not Vincent Van Gogh. Hardly, a little poet boy, which faithfully, plays with toys. Home is where the heart is, I heard someone say. Mine fosters whiz, naught, finer than this. Although, as I penned my views, overwhelmed I was not to rebel, but to propel. Woefully, it was time for farewell. A heartfelt, arrivederci, as I heard the doorbell.

“Good morning, sir.
How do you do?”

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing

Refined Sensibilities

Once upon a time
chance and wonder
pleased the earth
Goodness was
favoured over wit
for guilt and shame
were ignorant

It was a fairylike spell
when praise reigned
and thrill
was hardly doubted

Jingle bells!
Jingle bells!

Trees full of leaves
soaked sunshine
and birds never leaved

A blissful offspring
the Victorian home
ideally coloured

– Prayers
before breakfast
– Chai tea
biscuits and butter

Heartfelt words
were eternal
as love is maternal

heaven and earth
an age of enlightenment
—gave birth

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing

Fraternal Twins

Some cry love is a mere fantasy
an illusion of the mind
An escape from reality
which produces weakness
save for unrepressed might
Some may arise unto wealth & privilege
whilst others are disinheritely forgotten

Loveliness often fashions beauty & delight
excrement of misery are seldom derivatives
For this reckoning men the wicked have slayed
For this reasoning men the just have vindicated
As for love is oftentimes treacherous
save for at one fell swoop
soothes & reassures

Religious conviction rewards poise via veneration
since those who bare the mysteries of the heart
may well by manner of authority beget discernment
It is dreadfully feasible to exist without love
but enthusiastically impossible to crave not

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing

The Meek Shall Inherit

Earth, formed by love, and for love.
Our souls, corrupted via immorality.
Warfare amid the devoted,
and the heartless,
over a gift of consciousness,
we did not solicit.

And since iniquity fosters jealousy,
glee is a mystery to mislaid souls.
Conquered from within are adversaries,
Immortality is our reward.
Secular assets cannot purchase,
what freely was given.

Morality nurtures freedom.
Our faith will never fracture.
Treasures in heaven awaits,
thus, we may rise courageously.

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing


Surrounded by clouds
Oblivious of penalty
Engulfed in gallantry
I immerse

Delightfully sovereign
Radical without qualms
Placidly vanished
I remain

Elegantly dwelling
within palace walls
I reign

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing

Rebellious Nature

An evangelical college professor
Strongly demands an explanation
from his most accomplished student

“Mary, where’s your assignment?”

Staring back at him furiously
she responded,

“Jesus took it.”

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing

Opposite Sides of Truth

Strengthen our spirit, oh gift of faith,
because enthusiasm disregards all wisdom.
At the mountaintop, I saw a myriad of striking trees.
Their pleasant facade, inundating with enchantment.

“Do not consume the fruit of the awareness trees,”
I recall my father speak. Therefore, I only consume fruits
of the leisure kind.

Later that day, a snake was lecturing amongst the awareness trees,
bringing forth alertness concerning the penalties of egotism.
“No one is concerned with your uncanny rhetoric, creep,” I declared.
Sentiments of prominence augmented my sacred visions of grandeur.
Nevertheless, one insignificant and minuscule stone caused me to tumble
from the vast elevations of ignorance, enthusiasm had generated.

At base of the hill, inhabitants of depression town greeted me warmly.
However, I felt indifferent. Inside their desolated sanatorium, words from
the snake awaited.

His riddling insight
would haunt me for many,
countless years.

© Ernesto Parrilla


Posted in Poetry, Writing

Makeup Girl

14145536_1090829290964144_276140883_nIn the mist of the storm, a stunning outline emerged. Her beam dismantled logical boulders, thus energizing dreams, with paramount splendour. Though unable to speak, mostly due to unpreparedness, I mesmerized. Nowadays, mercy prayers pour out of me foolishly, in awareness, that it was the Lord and not chance, whom sent such beautiful blessing. Still, I trusted that mine eyes would witness her countenance once more, in such a way, that lightning formed a colossal eye in the sky, along with a voice that said, “no one will separate you from the source of all autonomous data.” My soul befell before me engulfed with righteous anger ― after many hurdles in between trials and tribulations, who shall be daring enough to die by my sword? Life is nothing more than a continuous battle for ownership. The gift of immortality bestowed by the gods is our capacity for love. Many are those who have fallen never to reach destiny. Then there are angels, whose worship is strength in the wake of actions. Protected by the gods at all times they are. Incorruptible, indestructible, unstoppable might of righteousness. Was she an angel? She very well could have been. Her charm outclasses every precious stone known to men. Magnetized by intense desire, unable to rest, I laid in bed. My thoughts raced and my fortitude questioned, as this was the very first, of many magical nights.

Each unconscious disorder shattered through psychic stillness. In view of that, hallucinations are unambiguous. “Travel through the portal,” a fairy suggested, “energy abounds, and time is fully absent.” As pixie dust expelled from her wand, she smiled, and hastily disappeared. “I would endure a hundred winters for one day of her warmth,” I spoke, but language delayed. A mysterious golden arrow shimmering with glitter appeared in her place. It pointed towards the woods, the appalling place where kingdom of shadows once reigned. Next doubt, fear, and unbelief, made themselves known. Nonetheless, I returned home without more ado. It was pizza night.

The next morning as sunrays arrived, uncovered windows upon such warm and caring heart ― chaste adoration caressing an angelic figure into awareness. “Are you thinking of her again?” my journal inquired. There was no reason to mask the truth, since it knew me entirely well. On occasions, I loathed anyone acquainted with details about me. However, I kept feeding it anyway. Her blank pages were magical canvases where quills became brushes. Dipped in ink, they resembled unlimited multihued paints, which indiscriminately guided my hands, through the creation of exquisite masterpieces. With seamless precision, an orchestra inside my head, quills, papers and inks, all an extension of self: for the affable pleasantry of angels. Time did not matter when stripped from its power. Therefore, following the morning cleansing ritual, was the liberation of sensually provocative underwear, and freshly fluffy socks. How did I know? It was a secret, I pinkie-pledged. All the same, the more I thought about her, never-ending revelations, mostly romantic, at times corporeal, trespassed into my psyche with the oomph of blissful radiation. Unexpectedly, I fell in love with literature.

At dusk, meditating about her before the basilica fountain, peaceful, tranquil, a sense of wellbeing showering my very existence with incomparable force fields which emanated lovingly from her thoughts. Then suddenly, resented and mischievous sprites materialized. They insisted on possessing unmerited answers to imprudent questions, “who was responsible for such meagreness?” I ought not to, but I replied anyhow, “My faultless lovebirds deliver notes on schedule.” Then machinations brimmed with further hatred as they forcefully inquired, “A prudent venture did you say, how come?” So I noted down a comprehensive catalogue.

  1. She often smiles while reading my tweets
  2. Our love is magical and paranormal
  3. Our minds work as one
  4. She is my soul mate

Her love is the medicine my ailing heart was longing for. Though many are those blind sighted, unable to recognize the powers which are unseen, if they only knew that those very powers make our lives meaningful. Humankind seems to be slightly crowded with insolent and impertinent rubbish, which makes possible for trance states to be more valuable. They are gateways through which we may time-travel, thus unscrambling ourselves from the mundane. If time were infinite, then enthusiastic dynamism would not be necessary. I have found the entrance, there, standing before me, the gates of heaven. At that very flash of blissfulness, I was complimentary. Then I heard a thud, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw them talking, plotting, green with jealousy, as they were unable to grasp fully the workings of those magnetic forces connecting the two. I chuckled, turned inward, and there she was, smiling at me. Radiating with healing tenderness by means of unhindered love, we floated over white silky sheets, and into a time without end.

Spellbinding secrets buried amongst angles, curves, and mounds. Her sensual portraits fostered illusions. Still, time accelerated along with other qualities not ardently suitable under states of undress. Even so, my beloved, I must wait on thee. As no earthly being within light years can judge against the beauty of thy wholesomeness, or draw near, the insoluble heart, which had imprisoned me. Lying on the sand, staring at the stars, I wondered if it was genuine, or just wants for inspiration. Alluring as calligraphy, the radiant psyches transpire, unaffected by sorcerers, and immune to black magic. The flow of Chi’ through the meridians brought forth an irreplaceable mystical air of equilibrium to all my senses. She is elegant, eloquent… self-centred… perhaps… regardless of all, her electromagnetism is heavenly pure, innocent, captivating. Unblemished by corruption, carol bells, lights, decorations, presents, the magical sounds of ‘White Christmas’ by Frank Sinatra. “At the heart of the ballroom floor, let us meet, dear mademoiselle. Because if thee allows me the honour, I would forever be enchanted with thy aura.” Following my declaration, sound waves constructed masterfully alongside hypnotizing chants, vibrated through earth’s substance with such transforming passion, it wept uncontrollably. And as my heart reloaded by means of her motherly assurance, innocent tears, were liberated. “Unseal the indiscernible manuscripts buried within energetic fields wrought with ones and ceros,” said Eros before sending whimsical arrows, empowering strength of character. “Do not be troubled. They harm not. But rather promote absolution, indifference, autonomy, introspection, and resolve. The reason why revelations of queries by daring convictions, enlighten the inquisitive fundamentals, of all understanding.”

Her beautiful countenance is further astonishing after restful sleep. And no mortal soul is capable of reducing into unadorned words, the origins of such lovely sunshine. If it were that effortlessly, no honourable value would-be found, would not you agree? Masterfully designed treasures surrounded by sparkling assets. Love surpasses all understanding. As thoughts passionately unscrambled before reaching my notebook, a magical map came into view. On the left side of it, written in untainted blood, the words, “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.” After that moment, darkness surrounded my dwelling place escorted by swarms of unhealthy crows. Their zealous desire overwhelmed with hatred, in the attempt of ruining my concentration. They chanted, and chanted tirelessly, outside of my window. However, fortunately enough, lamp oil was more than readily available, and so were earmuffs.

As pale gleams of tempered sunlight fell through rose windows, unusual nuances, mingled fervently with electromagnetic déjà vus. That is when an unrestrained jolly reworded the script. Describing that beyond the leafy and carroty horizon, love, health and privilege, awaited forever with limbs wide open. “Whose insipidness has thee allowed to tarnish the opus of thy fruitfulness?” I heard the Lord speak. Like a baritone echo roaring with such thunderous unrestrained strength, it enlightened each and every candle jar within its reach. Virtuous harmonies accompanied by rhythmic twinkles, bopped over and above the starring blue, each tad of all, reminiscent of her. Soft and delicate rosy cheeks glimmered with youthful and exquisite charm. Her sheer lovingly gaze, thawing away, every lone and barren glacier. Unapologetic nippy breezes rendered uncovered the quintessential assets that inspired the approaching season. Her pleasant beauty filled hearts with an exhilarating magic, and at the same time, colourful sprinkles garnished by chocolate donuts completed the extraordinary one of kind imported paintings that she loved. Fallen unto breathtaking states of affairs, amused I was, with visualization. For that her spellbinding ease rooted an unrivalled purity within me, thus yielded my flesh without struggle, as once upon a time.

© Ernesto Parrilla