10's for 2's

Hannibal is at the gates
The city throws them wide open

Welcome, enter, ravage, pillage
Stained hands trembling

To the victor goes the spoils
Treasures for rot, 10's for 2's

unhinged

it is the warm and the cold
meeting, merging, separating
broken apart by densities
thermodynamics, scientifics

the meeting of your cold, my warmth
reversed in the other's recounting
a building storm, a typhoon, a monsoon
uprooting unintended untended roots
of our convictions, foundations

a drawn-out calamity
that my spirit longs to unravel in
you are an opposing pole - irresistible
unhinging loose resolutions

of emptiness

dreamless sleep
unseen minutes
from a month, a lifetime ago

a field of green
devoid of the games
young hearts play, a longed for time ago

four fingers
spaces between
thumb resting on air, a lifetime now

left side of the bed
piled high with pillows
oh to be empty again, a longed for time now

glib

To be human and paint the earth with the full spectrum of our emotions
To be mortal and savor the myriad ways of escaping non-existence
To be sentient and dream of the path to touch the divine

It is overrated and burdensome.
Oh, that I were a starfish instead.

of silence

flickering questions
posing as vivid reminiscence
shared moments changing hands
unowned, scattered
like orphaned children
left hungry, yearning for love
in backstreets with noone to find them

unanswered doubts
disguised as threadbare hope
beautiful, my adored,
dressed in the cloth of
whispered dreams
built too high for even sleep
to climb, to reach, to fulfill them

I'll leave the light on when I go

Time to wake up

I wish my love could have held you
Kept you close to me
I wish my love could have made you
The man i dreamt you to be

Empty

The tongue is still
No words can come
When you beckon for the truth
You failed to give

It is an almost unbearable burden to live in an imperfect world that has made us believe in the ideal. Maybe I do wish I could go back to being younger. Yes, it was a time of innocent problems and ignorance but at least we had the naive hope of finding perfection. It is a desperate moment knowing we are never going to be the glamorous image we once had of ourselves, knowing the people around us are just as flawed as we are. Perhaps I am looking in all the wrong places. This temporary world, this fleeting life, were never meant for the dreams in our hearts. Maybe we've been wanting so much to see heaven that we thought there was a chance of it being found if we tried hard enough. There is nothing here but death. There is nothing here except a dwindling desire for salvation earned through years of pining and hunger.

The Prodigal

it has been too long. there is nothing to write of because the mind has unlearned the freedom of spontaneity. if there was one thing i dreaded to lose, it was my voice. give me a world without color, without sound, but do not deny me the faculty of my speech. and yet, now where will i find my muse? i left it here thinking the return would be easy. but the vines have grown and the thorns are sharp and in this last effort for a reunion, is it possible for the prodigal to be recognized when i myself have forgotten the way?

icarus flight

where is it you fly off to

away from this garden

you tend - sowing seeds in your

untamed way - with the breeze

where is it you go

when sun-streaked wings carry you

off - and i, flightless i,

am left trailing in your field of colors