tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43280175202281065272023-11-16T07:22:35.067-08:00Living with the ArtsPoetryAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-41692204865095554742018-01-07T18:54:00.000-08:002018-01-17T19:34:54.042-08:00Lonely (Original)A key, a key<br />
She swallowed the key<br />
It took a while to see<br />
It would not let her be<br />
<br />
Had she lost her mind?<br />
Life was never too kind<br />
A dream locked into two<br />
Where was she headed to?<br />
<br />
It was the beginning of an end<br />
It would cause her to bend<br />
Never thinking of light<br />
It all becomes too tight<br />
<br />
Until the mind is locked<br />
There, it gets docked<br />
Nowhere to wander<br />
Alone to only ponderAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-58165998048394608272016-03-02T15:45:00.001-08:002016-03-02T15:45:50.827-08:00Likeness (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm0BpGvN2P1zlP3FrrbHpsFdNRUmBYFPmA98Qi76C-rJTEIA8GMCOVsGNdf3tqsiWh5CRrsP9mZGR-nfxWM9Xcgy7zn5QUFtSLz16Ufgcv5RXuWNm44MCCvpgtut7fSL5VraZW9frDm1R/s1600/160229212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm0BpGvN2P1zlP3FrrbHpsFdNRUmBYFPmA98Qi76C-rJTEIA8GMCOVsGNdf3tqsiWh5CRrsP9mZGR-nfxWM9Xcgy7zn5QUFtSLz16Ufgcv5RXuWNm44MCCvpgtut7fSL5VraZW9frDm1R/s320/160229212.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="p1" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Poetry By: Erick Flores</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I chose life, and left you behind,</div>
<div>
There is more to life, than just us,</div>
<div>
I looked at the sky and gained hope.</div>
<div>
No one is too special, nor too similar,</div>
<div>
Everyone is unique,</div>
<div>
With just enough unlikeness within.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I chose life, and held it by the hand,</div>
<div>
I embraced my present, happily,</div>
<div>
I accepted the flaws that make me,</div>
<div>
I welcomed those that understood,</div>
<div>
Everyone is unique,</div>
<div>
With just enough unlikeness within.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I chose life, and out poured the love,</div>
<div>
I became empowered to take charge,</div>
<div>
To be more than words can convey,</div>
<div>
To live without any restraint,</div>
<div>
<div>
Everyone is unique,</div>
<div>
With just enough unlikeness within.<br />
<br />
Erick Flores</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-59600312856172644042016-02-17T13:02:00.001-08:002016-02-17T13:05:10.569-08:00The Bay (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vx_Vmqhf0UgI_evkjsLyPpWVTfddyr2z8Ey6agi_4QsOYWdW1rLwYOxcPPnO8aeMEzvSWyWzBApOTPC95Swljo0nOfvsUGB_K0dDxPS0Zyb-B41k1YNam5iw4KItKCv0TlnTlCgCJATM/s1600/160205147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vx_Vmqhf0UgI_evkjsLyPpWVTfddyr2z8Ey6agi_4QsOYWdW1rLwYOxcPPnO8aeMEzvSWyWzBApOTPC95Swljo0nOfvsUGB_K0dDxPS0Zyb-B41k1YNam5iw4KItKCv0TlnTlCgCJATM/s320/160205147.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="p1" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Poetry By: Erick Flores</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Down by the bay,<br />
I let my trouble lay,<br />
I pull my sleeves,<br />
I watch the leaves,<br />
They rustle,<br />
They bustle,<br />
I see their struggle,<br />
But then leaves snuggle.<br />
<br />
No, it is not a cay,<br />
It would lead me astray,<br />
The bay relieves,<br />
And one receives,<br />
Like a muscle,<br />
It will hustle,<br />
It does not smuggle,<br />
Only then snuggle.<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-34658791710481503382014-08-09T12:03:00.000-07:002014-08-09T12:03:10.130-07:00Dream (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvYaqikiUZUwqVosMEslze0J8mmRMYJ3mCtRKkYU61REonDgJ2Gt9eQ_sh9k8w4nNsgFoxvRxzEt54IU78PLfSHvX-za50uj3QIO1TEd1UYrOOb_v92a91l4XiR9__xtqoUgDPcvfczZ58/s1600/140805013-Edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvYaqikiUZUwqVosMEslze0J8mmRMYJ3mCtRKkYU61REonDgJ2Gt9eQ_sh9k8w4nNsgFoxvRxzEt54IU78PLfSHvX-za50uj3QIO1TEd1UYrOOb_v92a91l4XiR9__xtqoUgDPcvfczZ58/s1600/140805013-Edit.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="p1" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Poetry By: Erick Flores</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I dream of walking on stones,<br />
barefoot; it is rough, yet smooth,<br />
It brings me comfort<br />
To think of something so,<br />
It is strong, and secure,<br />
What more could one want?<br />
As I walk along, I see the horizon,<br />
Dreams are closer than you think<br />
<br />
Erick Flores<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-66440077653628148782014-08-08T02:21:00.001-07:002014-08-08T02:21:51.637-07:00Chandelier - Sia<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="710" scrolling="no" src="//instagram.com/p/ra4gUcy4Cv/embed/" width="612"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-50943191761774855912014-04-28T18:41:00.001-07:002014-04-28T18:41:44.283-07:00Oblivious (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqYnuq5npEwQy2mP4oBhTPhIg0imjBul8_lQmM8NykZBGmGk3b9QgPdUIyfSSWQxgGVWWxFt3zN9NH1qUgBeY_211mykfbI5Aw1i5iUArfQGZz_P1ANdTBP-cSjL7n9KD0iaYYfSVonMv/s1600/131025039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqYnuq5npEwQy2mP4oBhTPhIg0imjBul8_lQmM8NykZBGmGk3b9QgPdUIyfSSWQxgGVWWxFt3zN9NH1qUgBeY_211mykfbI5Aw1i5iUArfQGZz_P1ANdTBP-cSjL7n9KD0iaYYfSVonMv/s320/131025039.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
She didn't mean to do it,<br />
Running, panting, looking<br />
For a reason to turn back,<br />
And find home, at last!<br />
No one looked for her,<br />
No one noticed her.<br />
She now walked freely,<br />
No screams, no violence.<br />
No signs of hate or remorse,<br />
No signs of criticism.<br />
The sun was about to set,<br />
She happily looked ahead.<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-44794465569972528672014-03-25T12:09:00.001-07:002014-03-25T14:51:42.287-07:00Resistance (Original)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZp99WWc1o0ajOwXstgy1JVNUJ-NSmkTCXEn4teVz_d1Cia8bE7xIjZu-wdRWtxLnahwQJBXL_UKCB8IAMF9PMi7l-bhd3ydy5P9EOXYrVDKB0Uc_qUcMdIVq05tw6Ag6TpXMWOUUWbxYV/s3200/140322121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZp99WWc1o0ajOwXstgy1JVNUJ-NSmkTCXEn4teVz_d1Cia8bE7xIjZu-wdRWtxLnahwQJBXL_UKCB8IAMF9PMi7l-bhd3ydy5P9EOXYrVDKB0Uc_qUcMdIVq05tw6Ag6TpXMWOUUWbxYV/s3200/140322121.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="t1" style="text-align: center;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td class="td1" valign="middle"><div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Poetry By: Erick Flores</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</span></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was awakened by the dream tonight,<br />
I walked off the ledge and into the light,<br />
As I fell I thought of the rhyme,<br />
"Tonight" and "light," a different time.<br />
Complete opposites, yet complementary,<br />
One has to exist within, supplementary,<br />
A full casted shadow during the day,<br />
The moon during the night, now replay,<br />
As I swim in the ocean, I am resistance,<br />
I fight the waves, all in an instance,<br />
I am suddenly on the highest peak,<br />
I am in control, resistance, it is unique.<br />
<br />
Erick Flores<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-80964625931433760932014-02-28T00:52:00.000-08:002014-02-28T00:52:40.615-08:00Blur (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOP2t7qZAQ69fpkoJKTseAZAGtASFRSAg_4TQ3c2hLlYHPv72fmED6xsYJ_wESIIVNAsFdr_AF5QrFdSPE0d9rfbgNwAUJ2-FH1TZhjZl1YItZradK7Fcks31qZ_KsE7H0i7Ezp85X2z0/s1600/140227069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOP2t7qZAQ69fpkoJKTseAZAGtASFRSAg_4TQ3c2hLlYHPv72fmED6xsYJ_wESIIVNAsFdr_AF5QrFdSPE0d9rfbgNwAUJ2-FH1TZhjZl1YItZradK7Fcks31qZ_KsE7H0i7Ezp85X2z0/s1600/140227069.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Saying goodbye is best for us,<br />
The distance will only help us,<br />
I can't say I won't regret it,<br />
Nothing is eternal, I admit,<br />
I will dream of what could be,<br />
It is over the horizon, by the sea,<br />
I can see it now, as if it were,<br />
But I know it will eventually blur.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-59525455537617371652014-02-05T12:12:00.000-08:002014-02-05T12:13:45.543-08:00Gone (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGYezMm7qcLFTmTadCfyIK80vxbMFTORzmknfrKgaMU0rBp5mE0wIe5voth-M9INXIBET5knwu1u6Up7hjJ9qqeiH3XFdH4MdXFPBNbmRL5UYJ16iW55qQF0_2rDL8TE-vMOrzkUKMHVE/s1600/140131282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGYezMm7qcLFTmTadCfyIK80vxbMFTORzmknfrKgaMU0rBp5mE0wIe5voth-M9INXIBET5knwu1u6Up7hjJ9qqeiH3XFdH4MdXFPBNbmRL5UYJ16iW55qQF0_2rDL8TE-vMOrzkUKMHVE/s1600/140131282.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Contemplation never got me anywhere<br />
I am stranded on my own emotions; there<br />
See where it left me; sitting, wishing,<br />
Above all, I am left mostly thinking<br />
I look up at the broad sky at night<br />
It always leaves me without light<br />
And as I look up on the sky, the stars<br />
They are the past, I am left with scars<br />
I see ourselves like these stars at dawn<br />
Impossible, unreachable, at last gone.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-32353586362666424082014-01-22T12:22:00.002-08:002014-01-22T12:22:27.174-08:00Un Giorno Per Noi<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="710" scrolling="no" src="//instagram.com/p/jex0-3S4Ii/embed/" width="612"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-86190365184752553922013-11-14T13:53:00.001-08:002013-11-14T13:53:49.099-08:00Existence (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2R-GQwnl6_gYK_cnLC3bi6cePWb7JH9tEYm_2ezJNMi2a_Kt-ukL7y1tHaSna-ZsKabLqT9JUhByJdXlcEkn2yX7UEd4qtifWaqYDF9igBtY9-C4_BDKugJ95_X-r1KlpJ5nRojYJ9sRN/s1600/131111317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2R-GQwnl6_gYK_cnLC3bi6cePWb7JH9tEYm_2ezJNMi2a_Kt-ukL7y1tHaSna-ZsKabLqT9JUhByJdXlcEkn2yX7UEd4qtifWaqYDF9igBtY9-C4_BDKugJ95_X-r1KlpJ5nRojYJ9sRN/s320/131111317.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is like a rose,<br />
That pierces the skin to the touch<br />
Arousing one sense,<br />
Infuriating the others; back to rest<br />
<br />
It is like an emotion,<br />
You can't simply grasp it eternally<br />
Nevertheless, a sentiment,<br />
That will surely never be forgotten<br />
<br />
It is like a treasure,<br />
That is engulfed in abstract riches<br />
It is never enough,<br />
A swift pass, leaving solitary traces<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-16388647365703827522013-10-23T23:23:00.001-07:002013-10-24T16:31:48.213-07:00I'll Rise (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqq5vFmoSH53u46wnvC5VM0SUex7gs9mI1AsoTIIR3jmZpmT9E7veQsEaEAK7reba9q8NCUoYYpUcCmlAU6nt3y81MtJ6evAcJh_n1k_T1_xihDa6Xptuk4LbtA8c1AmXSWasw8z9veiUn/s1600/131016092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqq5vFmoSH53u46wnvC5VM0SUex7gs9mI1AsoTIIR3jmZpmT9E7veQsEaEAK7reba9q8NCUoYYpUcCmlAU6nt3y81MtJ6evAcJh_n1k_T1_xihDa6Xptuk4LbtA8c1AmXSWasw8z9veiUn/s320/131016092.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You can tear my walls down,<br />
You can shred every curtain,<br />
You can shatter every window,<br />
It will shine light in the unlit room.<br />
<br />
You can despise my actions,<br />
You can criticize me with disdain,<br />
You can persist attempts to halt me,<br />
With conscious volition I'll rise.<br />
<br />
You heard me approaching,<br />
Does my presence offend you?<br />
Why can't we just get along?<br />
You won't tear me down, I'll rise.<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-25037471985158639432013-10-03T13:34:00.001-07:002013-10-03T13:34:26.106-07:00Can Anybody Hear Him? (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iOLRUrclaYgTZkdUuOkAIrdqB2WVgbROLPUbHdZWDbyjGX9q6PpL8FY2vf4PqfLG5KboXUFKDi6A6lRS6Hng6sGcDxQLVeqEBrzmQ8DkXHLgTsGc_CltT_JlMXAIJ5Tk_nR7C_GGBxR3/s1600/130909007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iOLRUrclaYgTZkdUuOkAIrdqB2WVgbROLPUbHdZWDbyjGX9q6PpL8FY2vf4PqfLG5KboXUFKDi6A6lRS6Hng6sGcDxQLVeqEBrzmQ8DkXHLgTsGc_CltT_JlMXAIJ5Tk_nR7C_GGBxR3/s320/130909007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
He gave up on all last night,<br />
It was more than he could bare<br />
The pain was splashed on the floor<br />
It was translucent, no tracks.<br />
These are the easiest to hide<br />
Scars so deep, it's impregnated.<br />
As he walks along, a smile,<br />
The infamous facade that strikes.<br />
No one will feel, what is nibbling,<br />
Slowly eating out his emotions.<br />
In the wide open vast that engulfs,<br />
Who will hear his clamor for help?<br />
<br />
Erick Flores<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-18752670625582939742013-09-30T00:44:00.002-07:002013-09-30T12:57:36.525-07:00Echo (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tstwY_iotpM5majEdo2SSUbbMSv3yJJ9pKrRLeBYL7IfYIJnQXzp4-5V_U4yO629qJaXLK1ukldtUgRycxtQ6HsWn1Sr0LVNkaz1ybqB1yYtv_gHyv0h9eoc33p8ZFPP-6bXebo5vj5F/s1600/130929226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tstwY_iotpM5majEdo2SSUbbMSv3yJJ9pKrRLeBYL7IfYIJnQXzp4-5V_U4yO629qJaXLK1ukldtUgRycxtQ6HsWn1Sr0LVNkaz1ybqB1yYtv_gHyv0h9eoc33p8ZFPP-6bXebo5vj5F/s320/130929226.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I thought about you last night,<br />
Your presence was invited,<br />
I longed to see you, a moment,<br />
Patiently, it never came.<br />
If I had appreciated you,<br />
The times I could call out;<br />
Your name was memorable<br />
The way it slowly trickled,<br />
Like a small, swift river.<br />
From my tongue I speak,<br />
I ask for another chance<br />
To hear your voice, echo.<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-78669810821177493002013-08-19T11:15:00.000-07:002013-08-19T11:16:27.205-07:00Ocean (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9umauNYqPJwGBimgCcD-hQ_oVmNO3kDnCfVIm1UoSSHzGP-jX0RvL9Mh8vkA76jM9AbiHJnxhzL5bcKMh7FLCIZ7eL12V7i9If_V3ctuzfhgG9WnVW7D7s_pBBErfBpnU79fJiARe70oK/s1600/130802121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9umauNYqPJwGBimgCcD-hQ_oVmNO3kDnCfVIm1UoSSHzGP-jX0RvL9Mh8vkA76jM9AbiHJnxhzL5bcKMh7FLCIZ7eL12V7i9If_V3ctuzfhgG9WnVW7D7s_pBBErfBpnU79fJiARe70oK/s320/130802121.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I am sorry for all the times</div>
<div>
We never found hope,</div>
<div>
You and I were to blame</div>
<div>
For all the selfish nights,</div>
<div>
We dare not go on,</div>
<div>
Waves continue to flow,</div>
<div>
The ocean carries along.</div>
<div>
Today it is the Pacific,</div>
<div>
Tomorrow the Atlantic,</div>
<div>
It mends, just like my soul.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Erick Flores (August 19, 2013)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-34245482766670121812013-07-03T12:06:00.001-07:002013-07-03T12:06:18.669-07:00Paradise (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qJJmYGRewTj15E5qMCexlObwNAjkfIAuFFZlqBtNd19ccSKM93aIlizpZzDNdm_jaBJPNGq-gA2zNPNYxihWxMsJI5uImYWaouITeqHWqFDWACei0h2lvemyXM45yP9dUQVYocLkl4tw/s640/1307011059-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qJJmYGRewTj15E5qMCexlObwNAjkfIAuFFZlqBtNd19ccSKM93aIlizpZzDNdm_jaBJPNGq-gA2zNPNYxihWxMsJI5uImYWaouITeqHWqFDWACei0h2lvemyXM45yP9dUQVYocLkl4tw/s320/1307011059-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have been in paradise,<br />
The so called green grass<br />
The many hues of the river<br />
The everlasting smell of pine<br />
<br />
The natural deodorizers<br />
The flower's fragrance<br />
They all have impacted<br />
Every pore in my being<br />
<br />
They may seize to exist<br />
A product of negligence<br />
Let them endure entirely<br />
In a perpetual existence<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-33799632370573987712013-05-22T09:26:00.001-07:002013-11-20T08:31:26.474-08:00The Dance (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnKG5RtHdmVYaPHHInIDIa5RxWbxNgnerO7xaB8zQUGtMj2CfkSviY-LXLLrxA1IOYCLNHkr-JvpRCSKvkBCQo3xO0GANih_Fpk7bfHZj7LjI_7Ot_DfGXulPb0U2kKFOrSNN8dBvTopM/s1600/130509215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnKG5RtHdmVYaPHHInIDIa5RxWbxNgnerO7xaB8zQUGtMj2CfkSviY-LXLLrxA1IOYCLNHkr-JvpRCSKvkBCQo3xO0GANih_Fpk7bfHZj7LjI_7Ot_DfGXulPb0U2kKFOrSNN8dBvTopM/s320/130509215.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Her choreography is impeccable,<br />
Her beauty is anything but absent,<br />
The fragrance of her being is inevitable,<br />
Her heart's content state leaks through her pores<br />
As she moves a different direction<br />
She does not miss a single beat along the way<br />
As she approaches me, she immediately shines<br />
And at anacrusis, begins a new dance.<br />
<br />
-Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-19787969393272639592013-04-03T23:15:00.001-07:002013-04-03T23:16:25.082-07:00Eternity (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8N428j0xOxN_vYUMLe17HeTtIqHkquAeoj6_QCy4etXVXpP26FgQjyj8lV7UKfC6E6fdGRxxgP3WAB8burAyS90jz3EkZAAOmXTlRLxLlHTwfh7DwtmDeBEfztiamL4pvoFBY7bJvJX-/s1600/130331016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8N428j0xOxN_vYUMLe17HeTtIqHkquAeoj6_QCy4etXVXpP26FgQjyj8lV7UKfC6E6fdGRxxgP3WAB8burAyS90jz3EkZAAOmXTlRLxLlHTwfh7DwtmDeBEfztiamL4pvoFBY7bJvJX-/s320/130331016.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Please stay with me<br />
Make this moment last<br />
God made eternity<br />
As a door that both<br />
You and I can pursue<br />
Don't leave me here<br />
Pondering what happiness<br />
May be, when you were<br />
The one that completed<br />
That beautiful essence<br />
Of a true friendship<br />
Stay another moment,<br />
Don't go now, not later.<br />
Stay, and prosper.<br />
<br />
-Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-88289050286054902692013-03-29T11:53:00.001-07:002013-03-29T11:54:39.562-07:00Agnus Dei (Lamb of God Piano Cover)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/w_PPitMl4w0" width="420"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-82348899438510320822013-03-18T21:42:00.002-07:002013-03-18T21:42:42.719-07:00Knights (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-nrsfFBchDKqURcV1gpq559b18QNsiBVhTmNKERNjT0muE58MkCw-yZ0o4odTx9AJopMTaZgQUpNoAYbe5NC956H7ik1J_8emoNxabXmTdrNiJ_p6QTMktajLzFBq1DHAK5luqKYqOnS/s1600/130318024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-nrsfFBchDKqURcV1gpq559b18QNsiBVhTmNKERNjT0muE58MkCw-yZ0o4odTx9AJopMTaZgQUpNoAYbe5NC956H7ik1J_8emoNxabXmTdrNiJ_p6QTMktajLzFBq1DHAK5luqKYqOnS/s320/130318024.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I think about it all the time<br />
This morning I pondered it all,<br />
The afternoon brought<br />
no visible consolation.<br />
As I sit and look up,<br />
The moon overlooks the dark,<br />
Like a lifeless knight.<br />
Desperation overwhelms me<br />
There is no obvious answer<br />
For what is keeping me up<br />
Tonight, and tomorrow's night<br />
Throughout the lonely nights.<br />
<br />
-Erick Flores<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-3197940584798699492013-03-08T13:12:00.000-08:002016-02-17T12:30:38.314-08:00Another Hour (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEbv7I_ifXBhdFH44hrXAh-YGXJfYUMuRh4-u-J_yDnaHSVL6dHsmWRFaIcyLuKIdyU8WdtiO65Qm-RCUyE9cIAcRa6LcWMAb70WqQEhBhNW8HtChJxD23bjRmhpFfIzoqsHFxZJVYGJZ/s1600/080425085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEbv7I_ifXBhdFH44hrXAh-YGXJfYUMuRh4-u-J_yDnaHSVL6dHsmWRFaIcyLuKIdyU8WdtiO65Qm-RCUyE9cIAcRa6LcWMAb70WqQEhBhNW8HtChJxD23bjRmhpFfIzoqsHFxZJVYGJZ/s320/080425085.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Remember the nights by the fire?<br />
You would clench my hand,<br />
The grip intensified by the hour,<br />
The nights were long, so I would pray<br />
Asking for shorter daylight<br />
To see you again in moonlight.<br />
As the moon would reflect<br />
The morning on the other side,<br />
Someone in that morning<br />
Was also praying for a swift day,<br />
But I asked them to wait<br />
To grant me the longer hour.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-34393911006936803742013-03-06T11:10:00.001-08:002013-03-06T11:12:27.693-08:00In Ice (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQIEzFKx-VYOBL90EKa-kZ64XBMQ2oKWaSJi8oCkRDNSrM20QnDwmUO0p9EO8Nb71eje7dHrZ_1XgeEiglX-BggihDVe0wcQSYjOaeQpE2TQEXSeC9sS3AzyxG7kkoWqe2SRRXZXUZ0fw/s1600/130304006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQIEzFKx-VYOBL90EKa-kZ64XBMQ2oKWaSJi8oCkRDNSrM20QnDwmUO0p9EO8Nb71eje7dHrZ_1XgeEiglX-BggihDVe0wcQSYjOaeQpE2TQEXSeC9sS3AzyxG7kkoWqe2SRRXZXUZ0fw/s320/130304006.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hallie are you okay, are you okay Hallie?<br />
The way you smile, a different complexion,<br />
You once glowed, an honest disposition,<br />
A criminal once came, and stole your heart,<br />
Ran away into the night, I can see it in art,<br />
Hallie are you okay, are you okay Hallie?<br />
You grew apart, and now can't figure out,<br />
You have buried it all, in ice to melt it out,<br />
Let me be that flame, that will melt that seed,<br />
To flourish your love, I'll passionately lead<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-81627185957089516662013-02-20T12:22:00.000-08:002013-03-09T17:27:53.212-08:00A Walk to Remember (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCxlSzCeoxcy78in2-Ory0zxAdUehpfIh6-8Xqlxo9tnHparwcrEl2Hks9uD5Lv0IW-wuB1ifstrmdwCwCmOL3e-0bzTuB0wXIljgF-JiKVs7o_1_Nu6RDH6k9WNNunct3t_YsnVleUw2/s1600/130216015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCxlSzCeoxcy78in2-Ory0zxAdUehpfIh6-8Xqlxo9tnHparwcrEl2Hks9uD5Lv0IW-wuB1ifstrmdwCwCmOL3e-0bzTuB0wXIljgF-JiKVs7o_1_Nu6RDH6k9WNNunct3t_YsnVleUw2/s320/130216015.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The cold wind scrapes my face<br />
By now my hands are ice,<br />
My legs are fighting back,<br />
The snow is not inviting,<br />
The trees sway back<br />
And fights forth again<br />
The wind is its conductor<br />
With its rhythmic patterns<br />
As I gaze upon the horizon<br />
I see the stretch of crust<br />
The many trekkers that passed<br />
So many emotions spilled<br />
As I leave the icy plain<br />
The wind gives one last breath<br />
The land gives an icy farewell<br />
And imprints me as history<br />
<br />
Erick Flores<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-56618342301871202172013-02-10T23:00:00.003-08:002013-02-10T23:00:54.175-08:00Transparency (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrp3MpS6oWZi9wQt84JUqf_NLd_oFt2zjgcpzhFWVHdBE3i2oBLZgnILPwzGQzQICSJ40rjtYyg9ODUWCCMDXTiBJBlTzyFAoxdSAlZUtUeP86_qNe-UwrKxsDEXeKbV7FqOIZckFBVLMS/s1600/091229286-Edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrp3MpS6oWZi9wQt84JUqf_NLd_oFt2zjgcpzhFWVHdBE3i2oBLZgnILPwzGQzQICSJ40rjtYyg9ODUWCCMDXTiBJBlTzyFAoxdSAlZUtUeP86_qNe-UwrKxsDEXeKbV7FqOIZckFBVLMS/s320/091229286-Edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's inexplicable<br />
How anything flourishes<br />
How something comes<br />
And in trice disappears<br />
A beautiful aura<br />
It all comes together<br />
And in time separates<br />
It is not oblivious<br />
But displayed to be seen<br />
Today it sits, restless,<br />
Tomorrow, a transparency<br />
<br />
Erick Flores<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4328017520228106527.post-45962440185206986742013-01-30T11:29:00.000-08:002013-01-30T11:29:09.660-08:00Once (Original)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bXsiyeoBJcyqVhtrZtRQfyPEd7xS0wgrUP0rjsnm5W3EiSJCDMj5TezH8F9918bU3JYK8nKzoDJcg4PrqrfWy87dliuYs5bwZfWRTsnG7mk_buTN9TTJDpG8ZumPGehq44hqKxx-W2cZ/s1600/130130148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bXsiyeoBJcyqVhtrZtRQfyPEd7xS0wgrUP0rjsnm5W3EiSJCDMj5TezH8F9918bU3JYK8nKzoDJcg4PrqrfWy87dliuYs5bwZfWRTsnG7mk_buTN9TTJDpG8ZumPGehq44hqKxx-W2cZ/s320/130130148.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetry By: Erick Flores<br />
Original Photography by: Mikael Svensson<br />
https://plus.google.com/u/0/109888379776056131514/posts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />I can't say that I haven't been here<br />
It is a cold, bleak place<br />
It can scare anyone that may hear <br />
It is not a palace<br />
No warmth has prevailed<br />
Each, simply received once<br />
From there it all derailed<br />
It all happened there, once<br />
<br />
Erick FloresAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06838425722247850036noreply@blogger.com21