Happiness

Never forget my children, that happiness never lasts. It is the matchstick in the dark.
When struck, it lights ever so briefly, growing warmer as it growths.
But then you feel the sting of the flame and you let go with a startled gasp.
The warm flame sputters upon the ground, then dims and vanishes.
It burns into your eyes its impression that just wont fade, and your eyes made even blinder.
And the starless, moonless night, still grows ever deeper.

Magic

The night was spun of magic, an indigo and silver coat.

While time flows on and still I seek the magic I set afloat. 

The rage, the horror, the sobbing moons now seen so debased.

The lesson you set out to teach me that dreams should dreams remain. 

I'll descend from the sky, with wings torn up, soiled and unclean. 

The halo shattered like glass upon the concrete. 

I'd built myself a heaven on earth bathed eternally in gold. 

I'd found the flowers withered and cloying fruits black with mould. 

Still you look at me with those tortured eyes, so gentle and pure.

You plead in that bleating voice but leave me crippled and bare. 

My thoughts will linger still on dreams that have long been dreamt.

Hidden in the depth of the sea, more dragons than you can fight. 

The book of memories falls open again to an earlier page.

The words inscribed seemed more touching than upon first sight. 

Charmed like sleep, it lulls me, to past love's rosy hue.

The endless nights, the laughter, silences that were too few.

Don't comprehend this fantasy, to me it remains so dear.

The stilled quill and silences between us are born of fear.

By width, length, and by depth, you are measured so fair,

But the night spun of golden magic still hangs untouched in the air. 

Anger

It is something that grows.

Curled up at first, 

It unfurls. 

It sends feelers,

feathery probes 

that dip into the black mud.

It is something that wriggles

Soft, flesh body

And Sightless,

that blindly thrashes

Rolling itself in the ooze. 

It is something that feeds.

Rows upon rows

of sharp teeth

It latches on tight

Sinking into your bones.

It is something that poisons.

White hot blood flows

Feel it scald,

Pouring out of it,

Its nest in your open wounds.

It is something that consumes

Hearts, minds alike 

Festering. 

Gnawing at patience

Feasting on fresh blood. 

Love Letter

Thud.

The sound of the door shutting reverberated through the empty house.

Click. Click. Click.

Only one set of footsteps echoed through the marble halls.

Wosh.

Edwin planted himself down on to the soft leather couch, shed the black jacket, loosened his black tie, and sat back with a sigh. Finally, he had this all to himself.

A bubble of laughter built up somewhere deep in his stomach. He tried to push it down. No no, he was meant to be mourning, and indulging in tears, not laughter. But it could not be suppressed, and the sound of mirth bounced off the tall ceiling for the first time in many years.

*****

Blacks, browns, greys, silks, satins and furs were all piled into a great soft mound in front of him. In a moment of madness, he had ripped them from their hangers and shelves, trying desperately to purge the house of her presence. But he was back in his right mind now, and a little annoyed at himself.

Edwin bent down, and sunk his hand into the downy materials. There was a great irony he thought, that such a hard, commanding woman should have such soft coats. All those years of grovelling, of ‘yes dear’ and ‘no dear’ and ‘thank you so much dear’, and to think that she had only left him the house at her passing. All those years of servitude had surmounted to this hollowed house.

One coat still clung on to its hanger, swinging gently to and fro. It was a cream fur, once smooth and luxurious in the high of its glory, but now worn ragged and bare on its edges. It had been her favourite. He pulled it gently from the closet, and let it drown his hands. It pulled, heavy, weighted, until his arms hung limply. It pooled underneath him, a halo of butter-cream white, where it seemed to spread to the corners of the room. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her hands rising from the coat, clutching at his pants, trying to drag him under to where she had gone.

No, no.

The silence was broken by the curious crinkle of paper. A white envelope. He turned it over in his hand.

‘To My Love’ was inscribed in delicate lettering on the front. Edwin scoffed. Obviously it was not for his eyes. He tore at the letter.

‘Edwin’

He sat down slowly, the paper trembling in his hands.

‘For all of the years I’ve known you…’

*****

He’d first seen her at a party he had no right to attend. In borrowed suits, the three of them had sneaked into the country club ball, just three ordinary working class men. It had been a joke to them.

When she’d accepted his proposal, no one was laughing anymore. To Edwin, it seemed that everyone’s eyes had suddenly turned his way. They bore holes in the back of his skull, haunted his nightmares. Even with their backs turned towards him, he could feel their hatred chilling the air. And their backs were always turned to him. He’d wondered for twenty years how he’d maintained that smile he wore for everyone, while the smell of Cuban cigars and twenty year old scotch sunk into his clothes and yellowed his skin.

But she’d always been a commanding woman. She saw to it that he would live in comfort, and he’d not seen a cent beside. How he’d secretly loathed her then. 

‘…and I leave to you all my worldly possessions, for your tender and affectionate care in those painful final years.

With all my love, I fear that this is farewell.

Alice’

The paper floated gently to the ground, coming to a rest silently on the coat that draped from his knee. For the first time, he noticed the silence in the room. Not a sound. Even the trees had ceased their swaying.

This was the moment of ecstasy then. He was rich. He was still young enough to be considered handsome, still of marriageable age.

Edwin tried to summon up the laughter that had eluded him for so long. He stood up and shook off the lethargy that had previously weighed down his limbs. He needed to take this letter to the lawyer.

*****

It was a brilliant spring day, the kind that mocked mourning and made black seem inappropriate. The guests had fidgeted as the cask was being lowered into the hole in the ground, half expecting rain clouds to pool instantaneously. But it had remained deceptively cheerful.

As Edwin stepped out for the second time that day, the day seemed unusually hot. The sunlight glared off the white envelop in his hands, burning its after image into his eyes. His black jacket caught the heat from his body and the sun, trapping it next to his skin until he could feel the beads of sweat roll down his nape. He felt suddenly faint, washed out and transparent. For the first time in years, he felt eyes on him again, peering eyes that probed at all the hidden desires and suppressed hatred the sunlight had revealed. He could hear their whispers. Suddenly, he was walking down an avenue of disembodied eyes glaring down at him.

‘Look at the man that murdered his wife for money!’

No, no, he was no murderer. She’d died of cancer, wasting away year after year in that bed, pale and frail, always calling for him, clawing at him with her thin hands, grappling weakly at his lapels and always, always whispering, ‘stay awhile longer, stay awhile’. And he’d sat by her side in that dark, sickly room day after day, month after month, year after year watching her shrink inside herself, wishing for the day he could scour the entire place sterile white again. He'd vowed to burn that wing. 

Still the whispers crescendo, grating, and bouncing off each other; a swirling cacophony of noise around him.   ‘My love, My Love, MY LOVE’. The letter screamed in his hand.

Then silence.

He watched the letter flutter in space, hanging between the bridge and the rushing waters below. He wondered how it had escaped his clutches, but curiously, he was rooted to the spot and could only watch its progress going down and down. The surge of panic that should have surely spurred him into action was only a curious tinge somewhere barely registered in the conscious awareness. The falling letter was only a tiny, pinpoint of white now, floating away with all his ambitions, his fortunes…and now lost the in the brown frenzy below as it was torn apart by grappling, wet fingers.

The soothing rush of water triggered a long forgotten memory. He’d first spotted Alice by a fountain. Her hair had glimmered with shimmering, reflected light. A half smile had painted those delicate, pink lips in a graceful upward curve on her porcelain cheeks. For the first time in fifteen years, Edwin felt a swell of awe and admiration flood his heart. 

Star Child

Ashes to ashes...
           Dust to dust...

We are the children of the stars.
A blink in the eternality of time.
Our states and empires built upon the blood and sweat of millions,
Built to take it's place underneath the never setting sun
Crumbles to soft sand in the flood of passing summers.

Standing against the crashing of the waves you pledged an eternity.
But your eternity is hardly enough, merely a lifetime, a short wink
Or that moment between wakefulness and sleep
While I wander amongst my brothers and sisters in the stars, never tiring, never sleeping, never aging, never feeling.
Dear dear child, of what use can your eternity be to me?

You stare out at the stars to search for me
You wait and you wonder, you cry and you bleed.
You canter across these boundless plains, yearning to feel, again, the rush of stardust in your hair.
Your travel endlessly, on boats and cars, by foot and air
Yet what you search for will never be there, on this little circular planet
Where to go forward is to draw tighter the strings of your net.

Out goes the brief candle then, I watch your flame
Flickering against the dark, then begin to wane
For it burnt at both ends, for me,
Then, the last struggling ember glow and fades
As you grow still and cold.

Only then do I hold you again in my arms
When your warmth no longer bleeds into my skin
I will take you into the stars again, dear child,
To that place where the deepest cold seeps through skin, and flesh and bone and blood
And ice locks you away from the ravishes of time
So that I may gaze upon you forever.

Confessions II (T.A.T.U.)

These are serious times and I feel totally lost, if I'm asking too much it's only because being with you has opened my eyes. Who would've believed, such a perfect surprise? I keep asking myself, and wondering how, I've tried to close my eyes and block it all out. Want to fly to a place where it's just you and me, no doubt no shame and we can be totally free...

All the things you said, running through my head...

and I'm all mixed up, feeling uncommonly rushed. They say it's my fault, but I want it so much. Silence the screams, in the summer rain, running down my face and wash away all the stains. You stop and stare and worry about me, but I'm feeling for you what you're feeling for me. I can't try to pretend and I cannot forget and it's driving me mad, killing me instead...

All the things you said...

They've shackled me tight, I've rattled the rails. They've bound me tighter and pinned me with nails. I've screamed and cried in the dead of the night, I've wanted so much, just give me the signs. Nobody else and you still can't read minds.

Faster, looking at me, tell me what do you see? 

Have I crossed a line?

Farther, nothing can be, something you clearly told me

Have I lost my mind?

Confession

We sat, and from across both sides of the table, our overflowing words dammed behind closed lips. Our eyes, pleading for the other to end the silence. Suddenly, the wood that separated us could've, instead, been a writhing, blackened sea, a burning savanna, or cold and jagged peaks. Then that moment passes, and though we have not moved, I wake and I know. You are untouchable, unreachable to me. The bridge between us was washed away in the flood, and I had lost you in the plethora of words unspoken.

Epilogue

I'd always thought that the world would end dramatically. I'd pictured it a thousand times over, the darkness, the rain, the blinding flashes of lightning in the sky and the rivers of fire would score the earth, the screams of panic and pain and suffering and despair and terror, and death, sweeping its smothering robe over the orange horizon. Or perhaps it would be a watery grave for us; the low rumble that crescendos to a ripping roar, the sea risen, tearing rabidly against the shore, and then plunging towards civilization, engulfing us in its suffocating jaws.

But never like this.

Looking back now, perhaps I would've characterized it an unnervingly serene. The calm before the storm, as far as cliches go. Though there is a flaw with that convention; nearly any ordinary day would seem eerily calm in comparison to the events that followed. Perhaps, then, it is purely a matter of contrast rather than a foreshadowing.

Either way, it matters not. The wheels of destruction had already been set in motion against our existence long before we were aware, the earth churning beneath us, the laws of physics and fate aligning each minute hapchance, accumulating steadily towards our demise. And by we, I bear no self-indulgent notions to infer the destruction of humanity is comparable to the destruction of the world (that would merely be another extinction, an event with which we are all too familiar, and contribute regularly to) and extend this to mean the entirety of the planet on which we reside.

With the dampening effects of hindsight, the destruction of one planet in on solar system among the billions of solar systems and millions of galaxies in the world and the trillion stars and supernovas, it hardly seems a very significant event at all. What is the destruction of one little lump of rock in comparison to the disintegration of entire galaxies as they are devoured by black holes?

But I digress.

It was a rather dull morning. Steel grey clouds smothered the sky and everything had faded into a blander shade. It did not pour, but neither was it dry; a dampening misty drizzle rendered visibility to about the distance between the tip of your nose to your outstretched fingertips. It was not bone cracking cold, nor was it pleasantly warm, but a musty chill that nipped gently at un-gloved finger tips and slipped its way under woolen coats.

At precisely 9:14 in the morning, there was a shudder. Nothing big, just a small jolt, the same feeling you get when a car shifts gears. Life in the metropolis didn't even halt long enough to acknowledge it, the tell tale signs of imminent doom. Lying in bed a the time, I'd associated it to those falling sensations you get half between sleep and awakening.

About half an hour later, for no one really bothered to look down at their wrist watches when the world was ending to record the exact time at which it ended, everything suddenly went dark.

To My Grandmother

I was born in the dusk of your years
When the winter's winds, and wearied roads
Had etched upon your withered skin
The thousand lines of waste's weary pace.

I never knew your springs or summers
Never saw the girl that perhaps still lingers
Untouched and sleeping in your mortal shell
Locked behind the reflection in the well,

Only the old woman bent and stooped
A glowering ember in a darkened grate
You gaze through dimmed brown eyes
Worn and tired as of late.

Your tongue was foreign to me
I spoke of a different world to you
In slurs and meaningless beats
Came the same tired gesture of reply,

I wish I had known you then,
The springs and summers,
The butterflies, that danced and
The songs that you sung,
Now forever hidden within your mind
Calls out to me a tuneless melody

I have watched you seep away
These eighteen long years
Watched the strength wane from your limbs
Watched the colour bleed from your hair
Watched the blood drain from your face
And watched your soul dim in your eyes.
Yet it startles me, that from your body
Two robust generations had sprung.

I wish I could find the words
To say what I wish to say.

Now that you tether upon the banks of Lethe
Would you look back upon us
With gratitude or with shame?

When nights cloak should fall
As is common to us all
Would then, you rejoice
In the release of your pain.

Would your spirit then be freed
To soar high above mortal pains
To leave your decaying shell
To see the heart behind my silent pleas?

What do you dream of now as you lie
White and pale as your sheets
To walk the forward path
Or back to your shackles and chains
Back to our weeping hearts?

And should upon the morrow,
That last tear, forbid, would fall
Would it be a trickle of joy
Or sadness for the sadness we'd recall?

Perhaps, Goodbye

With love, your grand-daughter,
Who speaks a foreign tongue,
Sheds foreign tears,
And grieves with a foreign heart.

Hide and seek

We're washed up amongst these constellations

Floating in this frozen sea

Pushed by the waves of tension

That builds up in between

The lies that you tell me

Carry me out in the tide

Till I'm lost and alone

Yet you still have things to hide 

Knowing us we shouldn't have to play these games

And now it is time to decide

Rewind the clock and return the day

The sun rewinds from the west

Tell me all the secrets you keep

Maybe then you'll find your sleep

Don't keep up this game of hide and seek

A million miles in the wrong direction

I had all those dreams of eating those miles up with you, with the wind in our hair and the sun on our faces, we flew. Meanwhile the musics pumps out and in the deep of our hearts we knew, somehow, that this could not last, we were going too fast...

Tell me why, why is it that one is too far to reach, and the other just walked away?
Tell me how, how have I ended up here on my own, all alone and with nothing to say?
And while the sun stills shine outside the window, I'm sitting here watching snow fall through the panes.

Sometimes I wonder if anything really ever lasts, or my fantasies will come true or its just that, nothing every really goes the way we plan, and nothing just comes with the drop of a hat. I guess, I knew, and it's better than just coming out of the blue, the times I hear your voice are too few now...

Tell me why, why is it that I can't stop the tears from my eyes, or the thoughts of you tearing through my head?
Tell me how, how this would happen every time I'm curled up, sobbing in my bed?
And while the birds still sing outside the window, I'm sitting here picking up the pieces that are left.

It's too dark outside now to see out
Your heart is a million miles out
In both directions...

Homecoming

The only clear memory she had of him was his back, dark against the sunset. In her memories, he was always either leaving, or arriving, but never by her side. 

With the first cry of the cockerel, dawn sunshine began to overflow into the room, seeping from the window sill onto the smooth, worn floorboards to flood May’s sheets. A golden tendril gently stroked her eyelids, coaxing her into awakening. Delicious warmth cushioned her body in the softness of her bed as her vision cleared. The hazy edges of a half-forgotten dream seeded the rare bulb of contentment within her breast, lingering at the edge of remembrance. Sunshine, ever mischievous, extended curious fingers further, cradling a photograph that hung on the opposing wall, the same that May’s eyes settled upon every morning.

It was an old photograph, taken almost two decades ago now. It was of a tall man, with his head and neck wound completely within a cream scarf, draped with rich bourbon, oriental robes and dark skin boots resting against his motorbike. He was framed with green rolling hills dotted with fleecy sheep and forested mountains fading into the horizon. The villagers had always coined him as the ‘wandering visitor’ though they knew that he had been birthed right here. Cradled within his right arm was a small, black haired child with wild, laughing eyes.

The distant echo of wind chimes was followed by the thud of a door down the hallway. The twinkling notes danced within the gentle breeze wafting through her window for a few more moments, before dissipating into the morning.

'Aunt May!'

Time to get up.

*****

He was the strong arms that carried him in his earliest memory.

 ‘Grandma, tell me more about father.’

‘Alright, one more story. When your May was young she was quite mischievous, just like you, you know. She’d always wander into the forest, following your dad, and she’d never be able to keep up. He’d always give us an awful fright when he came home alone, and she’d always find the most obscure places to hide along the way. But he’d always find her before everyone else, in the hollow of a tree, underneath a boulder…’

‘Mum, don’t tell him those things!’

May found Jun and her elderly mother at the breakfast table, bent over a huge pile of scrambled eggs and toast. Was this the same baby that had been dropped into her arms almost two decades ago? Such a spitting image of his father. Jun had turned to her with a familiar disappointment; she had the habit of interrupting their talks. May returned his look with a glare. Grandma shuffled away from the table to fetch another plate from the cabinet.

‘Jun, your father left you here with me, and he's not coming back.’

Jun lowered his eyes and nodded, digging into his breakfast with renewed vigor. They’d been through this many times before, fraying their tempers into transparency, their spirits brittle and their emotions tumult. It just hadn’t been worth it.

‘Oh, and Jun, I need to go to town today, could you look after the shop for awhile?’

‘Sure Aunt May’

******

The townspeople had muttered at the departure of the wild child. He’d be up to no good, they’d all whispered.

Jun couldn’t recall his father, beyond a vague memory of being held in someone’s arms. Every impression of that man had been derived from the simple photograph that hung upon their bedroom walls, and decorated the shelf in the kitchen. It wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more.

Grandma told amusing stories of his father’s childhood with May, told stories of how he’d disappear for months, years at a time, only return with fantastical tales of adventure and discovery. But it wasn’t enough. Grandma, in her age, could never recall in that much detail where his father had been or seen. He could almost taste it on his tongue, the excitement that surely flooded his father. He too could feel wonderlust stir in his veins. 

It was strange, being the closest relation to his father in the family, and yet the only one unable to recall his face. May had almost filled the gap of a mother, and the grave of his real parent was only a short walk up the mountain. All his life, May and grandma had been the only people real to him. Jun had long since learnt not to ask about his father. All inquiries were met with ‘He was a bastard that led my sister to her death’, or ‘He should’ve never came back to marry her’. Jun wondered, sometimes, if his father had ever tried to return, or if May’s protectiveness had rendered too potent a barrier.

I want to meet him. This extraordinary father of mine.

*****

It was a simple charm really, just a small shell worn smooth by the tide, and a hole bore through the top, a strand of twine and a loop. It was all she had. 

All their lives, they had lived by the sea. May was the youngest child in the village with her ash blonde pigtails and her wide green eyes still awkwardly thin. Her sister, sweet sixteen, had beautiful black hair, and eyes that danced. And then, him. Still three children back then, running around the island with bare feet, camping in the forests, getting lost, swimming in the summer, skiing in winter, fishing, woodfires and smoke...

And love. Love that blossomed in the summer, and the triple became a duo...

May sometimes wondered, back then, watching her sister and him walking hand in hand on their beach, picnicking in their forest, if things would've ever been different if she had been the eldest, or the only child. 

Then she watched him leave, and watched her heart break. The frail elder sister was with child, blooming and blossoming, but faded just as the spring flowers wilted with the first gust of winter's wind. 

And then she was all alone, with his child. Waiting for him to come home. 

*****

‘I want to find my father…’

‘No.’

‘May...’

‘He’s my son!’

‘He’s also his son!’

‘I hate him!’

‘May, we know.’

May’s hands shook. A hollowing despair had swallowed the bulb of happiness the morning had left her. She clawed at herself, willing for her body to move, to stretch out her hands, to stop them shaking. To grab her son, and clasp him to her chest. She’d felt this before, when he’d left for the first time. She watched his back disappear by the same road her son would leave her, a black dot along the dusky road fading into the unseen horizon.

‘May, all children have to leave their parents sometime’

‘But why am I always left behind?’

Grandma shuffled away, leaving May staring out of the window with unseeing eyes at that forsaken road. 

She felt her daughter’s pain; that man had been like family, growing up with her daughters, and a part of her had always known he would be part of the family. But she saw Jun too, the hesitation every time he picked up the photo in the frame, the chasm that could not be filled with merely stories. He needed something solid. He needed the father that both of them knew so well, and yet he was in ignorance of.

*****

The two women stood hand in hand, and Katie could not help but chuckle at her own helplessness.

The damsel waiting for the return of her knight.

It was a strange de javu. They had both left as boys and one day, they will both return broad shouldered, confident, and a million miles away. She could feel an elbow dig into her side, reminding her.

She forced a smile on to her face, and waved to the receding figure.

As she watched him leave, her wearied mind had forever incased him in his wide eyed, carefree childhood. From somewhere far away, drifted the sweet, hollow notes of the wind chime, carried by the breeze. 

And then, it's all so very simple...

Fairytale

http://sacredmistsblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Fairytale-fanpops-got-talent-9463506-400-382.jpg

First time we met,
The lights were dim and the day was dead,
With music pumping out from somewhere far away.

You looked at me
And I should've known then, that this 
Was the moment the rollercoaster tips off the edge. 

Now I can count the freckles on your cheeks
And sketch the pattern of your jeans,
Picture the strands of your hair,
The way your breath mists the air.

One touch and I remember
The lines that mark your skin
The softness of your fingertips
Brushing up against mine.

But I'm waking up from this pleasant dream
the clouds have already turned grey.
I cry because beyond my reach is a past that I cannot forget. 

You're so close to me,
Walking side by side, you see,
I'm having such a hard time holding myself back.

I only just met you, and already you're there,
This is the stuff of fairytales,
Holding me ten feet in the air,

Dangling from the roof
Of a hundred storey building,
But I just can't bring myself to care.

But we're just a dream, a story,
So tell me how is this fair?

hehehehe xD

my fate as a heater...

Floating Lanterns

http://img3.visualizeus.com/thumbs/34/be/city,hands,hope,lost,rain,window-34be3395a603caba9a1524f5a2456455_h.jpg

I promised myself that I wouldn't wait in a cold house for the sound of your footsteps. It's just like how you promised me you'd be home when the darkness falls. But I'm still sitting sleepless all alone on the stairs by the door, wrapped in my blankets, head leaning on the wall.

The meagre mile that come between us suddenly feels so far, even though you're really just a phone call away. Yet, it's just not the same. All the summers past, I want to gather them in my arms and release them like lanterns in the night. Like little suns they'd drift all around me in a kaleidoscope of colour, casting rippling memories upon the ceiling with their lights. I'll bring them before me one by one to watch our lives play out in silent motion. The little girl running through the park in warmer days and flying upon the ice in winter, my hands safely locked in yours fades. The dusky smell of closeness, fire and wood that wraps around me and brings me back even to this day, lingers in the corners of my mind. That too fades away. I see your face as it is now, but hair blown back by the wind and such a joyful smile upon your lips as we race. The tint of pink that dusts your cheeks as you dream of better days.Or maybe the way I would stare at your back as you walk away, at a time when I happily followed. Or perhaps those stolen glances at you when you walked by my side, silhouette cast so perfectly against the gold of the evening light. Adoration, so blind, dear dear child. Those naively perfect moments of affection, senpai, semper fidelis. Your warmth, the confusion, the tears, the phone calls that had us laughing deep into the night...

My breath freezes in the air, caught up by the grey morning light. The kaleidoscope of memories tucked into my heart and locked up tight. My body aches as I ascend the stairs in this ever silent house. Sink back down into the cold sheets. Clear my mind and sleep. Sleep and maybe dream. Do I have another choice, isn't there another way?

The moments creep, the clock ticks by
The sweetness lingers in my mind

She's so beautiful
So very beautiful
I can not believe what I see
How can perfection believe in me?

Standing in the wind, the cold and the rain
I paused to seek your human warmth
Remembering that you no longer care

Fall

If the rain could rise instead of falling
And the sun fly from west to east
If we could untread all those trodden miles
Back to when you held my hand for the very first time...

If the sun could rise instead of falling
And the wind could gather the sand
We could catch the tears as they fall
Softly smile as we sat on the pier, on that very first night...

To Be Or Not To Be...

... that is the question.

Shall I relinquish to the role of the child

That falls asleep, gaze cast still, upon the mirror

At the child that gazes back with saddened eyes

Curled, too, upon the sofa.

Or be the woman I am?

Treading from room to room from dawn unto dusk

The whitened walls, the polished floors, the dust

The noise that deafens the sensitive ear

Music that thumps the heart and cloys with listening.

For here, even the silver of the stars are dimmed

To hazy white-rimmed opacity, the moon

Suffocates amidst the fog choked city, a leper.

Across the shadows leapt the darkness deeper.

Shall I relinquish to the excuse of madness?

Though I think not myself a madman,

But when to sleep and dream is to truly awaken, to live!

And to wake, only with deadened body and mind...

But to think, not of gain nor of sorrow or agony,

And only of joy, we would be madmen deemed.

Perhaps then those deemed mad are merely free

And sees the world as I wish to see.

For how many of those we hail prophets

Were but madmen in their time,

And how many prophets indeed,

See with their eyes? No, it seems

We should judge madness by state of mind

But perhaps only judge the madness of human kind. 

Because you're a book, just a story, just something in my mind
And the thought leaves me a little bit lonely...

Promise

Just because he smiles at you when you give him candy, does not mean he'll make you smile when you've run out.

RD Jr in all his glory...

The Artist's Reality

The artist creates the world that he wishes to live in; with every stroke of a brush, the scratch of a pen, he animates the beings that live within that fantastical reality. But should he take the time to savor the world he'd created,  then brush should pause and the pen should stop, all that he finds is a grey, stagnant world. That is the artist's reality.

Love Beneath a Concrete Sky

http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5214/5414778771_f8b4cf0bb6.jpg

From iron cage to iron cage, concrete walls and skies and floors
From the trees that never age, and the scrap metal, iron moors
The hustle, the bustle
The endless parades
With blaring horns and roaring engines
and the tyres that squeal
and the children that run
and the dog that barks at your back
the smoke, the ash, the screams, the cries
the little gentleness that cries inside.

Does my rear extend within this gown?
Where did you stick that piece of gum?
Come back! Come back!
And he only laughed
To see the tears flowing back.

The river runs fast and strong, a throng
Of suits and pants dipped in pitch
A million umbrellas stretched out wide
Like the skin upon the wings of a billion bats
Squealing and shrieking through the streets
Nipping and screeching through the night.

U said u <3ed me!
N I lied
Besides,
The ocean is wide

The dark, the dark
The darkness of night
Cowers shivering from the lights
Wrapped in corners
In  shadow deep
Finding a place where it could weep
and hide, hide from the million, billion, trillion lights

The people lost, their bodies writhe
Amassed upon the tower heights
Drowned in noise, covered with smoke
They pretend to be the words they spoke.
Stolen smiles, stolen dreams,
Stolen drinks worth more than any of these
Come here child and say hello
Now let me take you home.

Back to my golden cage my bird,
Where I'll make you sing
And dance, and sleep
Make you regret this night
Even in your dreams.
She smiled back, and said hello
'I won't remember,
Wont remember a thing'
And agreed.

Memory Palace

I dream because dreaming is better than waking, even with the monsters and mazes and repetitive arcs.
I dream because dreams take me to better places than this corner in the dark.
They writhe in rhythm with the beat of drums, to war, to war, they cry.
I smile because I can dream of places long gone, places turned to dust.
In my dream they smile with me, and the gentle music sways to the scent of musk and lavender.
Her laughter twinkles like a million stars, and his eyes reflect the light of a thousand crystals.
But reality pounds upon my door, and shakes my conjured house.
Memory palace, palace, gardens, a fountain bright and pure, pure, stream water running into the river, running into the ocean wide and vast.
That is where I wish to be, in the silent, deepest dark. To be a drop of water amongst a million billion others.
It is always night in my dreams, the time of mystery, miracle and magic. Tonight, you're looking at me with closed eyes and an open heart, and I see the breath of fire blow strength into you. Tonight, reality has been lost and found.
Dreaming is reality, reality is dreamed up.
May our wishes find a million shooting stars.

Sleeping Beauty II

I dreamt of a tower built long ago. Surrounded by rolling hills and a garden of peaches.
A hundred sleeping beauties, all in a row, draped over beds and chairs and sofas.
And whittling away at a bench, an old woman grey.
Forever bent over the kitchen stove, serving cold breakfast to a dozing dragon

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A hundred sleeping beauties still dream though the soft sunlight across their face, all wrapped in their blankets, silk and lace
Look, there's one head upon her elbow leaning across the stairs. 
An old woman dozes in front of the dwindling fire, knitting upon her lap. 
A hundred pairs of socks, a hundred scarves and a hundred woolly caps. 
The dragon as ever, curled about her feet, blowing embers on to the stove, keeping the kettle warm.


a hundred years of quiet winter nights... 

Pumpkin Patch

http://singlegirlsurvival.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/cinderella-pumpkin-large-w560h369.jpg

I am not a princess
I don't do sparkling eyes
My hair ties into knots
My clothes well... they're not always the right size

I have a prince charming
He's called Teddy and he sits on my bed
My pumpkin coach is a rumbling train
My ball gown... well lets not go there.

I dont like the sound of squealing
I'm... kind of, afraid of mice
My guardian angel is my pillow
My fairy mother is my bed.
My real mother, shes not evil
Just frazzled from her job.


I'm not ravishingly beautiful
I dont do tooth-aching sweet
I'm not always kind or nice or supportive
Sometimes I'm even mean


I went to my graduating formal
The dress was hard to afford
It didnt look that great anyway,
It was a bit bigger than it looked.
My date nearly lost my stuff
I thought I'd go in jeans.
Cinderella story? I think not.
I even spilled my drink.

Long summer days at the beach then?
The thermometer never hit 30
And the rain, oh the rain, it rained
Every day of the week.
Walks in the rain then? One umbrella?
Dont be daft.
We were both too busy,
Way too busy to ask.

What about the new start, the new beginning?
The one you'd said would come?
I dont know, it remains foretold
A glimmer of flames in the dark...

But lets face it, Billions of people
Amassed, to the music, sways
All lost in their wave of despair and desire
To think, that a few must be lost
And very few ever found
And who am I to have such luck?

Cicada's Song

(http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3198/3007460569_1b3973a02a.jpg)

It's towards the end of April, the leaves are starting to fall 

The browns and red and yellows, woolly scarves, brick walls

And rain, gentle and thundering, churn the dark topsoil

The last of the roses droop, petals shining with pearls

The vines that wind round the braided arch whither 

Apple trees hung heavy with swollen fruit

And the chill that mists your breath in the morning 

The beech with its golden carpet and chocolate roots

Not this year. 

The crickets sing of summer in the evening 

When the sky still glows orange from the setting sun

A full symphony of bullfrogs still choir, though the midnight bell's been rung

There's still that hum of warmth about the mornings

Still that nostalgic sweetness, the giddiness, the taste of December in the air

As if somehow summer had never come before, 

Now returning to us, and it has stayed there

Lulling time into forgetfulness

I sit by the window, listening to the cicada's songs

Half-dreaming half awakened, half filled with sorrow

The cold mug sits forgotten on a nearby chair

The potted plants still budding on the window sill

Remembering a summer never been

Wishing to return to times gone by 

At the eve of autumn's satire of a summer's day. 

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/69/212200275_94bbd838de.jpg

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There are things that never could be.

There are things that never should be.

The things we wish for are both above.

Mermaid

http://photos.onetreedesign.com/images/cannonBeach.jpg

Wash up against the barren shores, a sea-maiden, wreathed in green

With midnight hair and sea-blue eyes and lips of coral sheen.

Weary limbs pull towards weary tides that pushed her up to land

A longing call she directed to the waves lapping at the sand. 

Friday Morning, without coffee

Eight o'clock in the morning, and even the sun is barely awake.
Not to mention me.
I'm sleepy.
The tute guys enters the room, and I think
what a fob =_=
but i look like a fob today too.
Its been awhile since I've made a post in prose.
If you can call this jumble prose.
Sigh, a shout out to my bed, I miss you T_____T
so so much right now...
Oh well, gotta get on in the day.
My tutor's at the front pacing away. Poor man, he thinks I'm studying, no doubt.
LOL
should I tell him I cheated for homework and just put all the data into excel?
Is that cheating?
Or being efficient?
I better stop before my brain juice runs out.
Bye bye.
zZZ

Season's greetings.

There is something surreal with a sea of unknown faces.
Do you know? Like those moments in movies, those fast forward scenes, with one person motionless, standing upon a platform and life washed by.
And standing there, stranded upon a rock amongst the tide.
If I were to catch you all within a net, squiriming quicksilver, how many strangers, how many friends, how many enemies or lovers would I get?
It is all so strange...

There is a castle amongst the forest, with emerald lawn. A bell tower that chimes upon the hour, carved sandstone. I circle 'bout its outskirts, sweeping by, for a moment of magic within its walls.
There is urgency, unbounded terror and dread. Drowning in people, drowning in words, drowning in the cacophany of unfamiliarity.

There is light for a new start, as cliche as it may sound.

A garden of quiet amongst the buzz. The shade of a single tree upon the grass. The shifting veil of shadows upon the ground. The chill of autumn's waking breath, and the golden sun. The carpet of flaming leaves. Crunch. The fragrance of soft, fresh morning, and dew on the underside of downy leaves. Walled garden.

Fun. Loneliness. The terrible contrast. To feel lost and found. To pick up the pebble upon the sidewalk, to find the shell that another forgot. And the hope of the glimpse of a familiar face admist the crowd, and an epiphany of joy.

The morning peeps from the horizon, hesitant, timid. I hope it will cast out its beams and, with a flourish, dance into tomorrow in its bright new dress of gold.

La Luna

There were too many things to say at the same time.
So accustomed am I to the open heart, that I could not even keep its blackest blood from you.
Too bad, the bad potion floods into your veins and poisons the joy of day and night.
Debt, deeply buried in so many seams within the ground, fissures in great geysers spouting brimstone into the Heavens.
The anger that burns like simmering embers erupts into flame, flinging caution into the winds.
The mushroom cloud of consequence smother's the morrow's moon.
I've heard the first splash of summer rains against tin eves, and the rumbles of rolling thunder-fed clouds.
The comfort, the warmth but no desire in the sun.
A pink blanket. A stolen hug.
Yet I remain immobile, stuck in the ground, with only visions to guide my roaming heart.

The Youth and the Statue

'O! Marble statue, a stone for your heart,
Upon your shoulder I weep for my love-
Long departed into the winding dunes
The fumes, the screens, of dreams
Long departed.

Sweet alabastor, with skin so fair
Do you not sometimes too, despair
in this world so harsh?

O, but perfection has bound you in her chains
the pains, that you will never know
a show, I must be to you.'

A young man leans upon a maiden,
and stares up to her gentle face
that Beauty and Virtue had laden
With all their gifted grace
He sighs, he moans and he cries
His suffering and his hurt
he unburdens to this stranger
marble and stone had girt.

The afternoon so passes
and evening quiets to night
and so does the weeping stranger
contemplating his plight.
The evening star sweeps in, her entrance
dragging her starry gown
and pinned night's cloak to his shoulders
to whom lady Luna's bound.

Fast asleep, under her feet,
the youth is peaceful in rest.
Unknown to him, those eyes above
were full with  tears unshed

Magic glitters, those cold lips speak!
And tragic words she utter:
'Dear, dear youth, I wish you'd see
The loves that live beyond hers.'

A cold white finger, bends
stiffly down, to carress that warm flushed cheek.
The magic fades, and dawn arrives
to disturb the fair youth's sleep.

He awakes slowly, feeling still
the dampness of the dew
And in his palmed, cupped the most curious thing
A tear shaped, stone made jewel

And the stone maiden ever,
In her stiff repose.