In hidden garden under moonlight glow, lilies gleam
Along the path of one who lingers lonely there
Emotions and thoughts; manifestation of passion’s death and dream
Shadowy glimmer of dark mist; what has and will be; beware
This apparition, in solemn presence, its own eyes lit with raging storm
Self loathing transfixed; desolate and grim, but for passion and sorrow
Thoughts waging tireless war upon emotions that will not conform
Hope springs anew a tiny flicker just the same, on the morrow
With loathing, bitter sweet the struggle arises, fought with no reserve
New seeking to bury old, to forget; imparting tears and faux strength
Thoughts seek to command emotions that will not serve
This conflict fueled with pain, sorrow, joy and hope to what length
Coming forth, they come, gaunt and ghastly sad and painted
They come, deep dark crimson wrecks of despair and betrayals grime
Faces seared with hatred fresh, haunting eyes, with vision tainted
See them, awash in red, labelled with date and time
Each night in dream or nightmare’s fitful embrace; lost love, hope, joy
They join, forming that one, but a shadow of self, for remembrance
Time and again loved and labored, they played with emotions like a toy
Tossed aside when interest lost, slaughtered anew, with indifference
They ask why my eyes
stare blankly into space,
and why no emotions
blanket my face.
My walls reach higher,
my skin grows rough,
my smile turns dull.
My heart has had enough.
Silence fills conversations,
sadness glazes stares.
Fear fiercely pushes away
any person who cares.
I don't understand
why I feel this way.
For I tell them to leave,
yet I long that they stay.
POSTCARD TO A POET
I don't want to write it down.
I don't want to give those thoughts life form
cause once you put them down on that soft pillow of memory….
Once you do that,
It becomes truth!
The one that haunts you....
The one that comes in your dreams
The truth that never knew lie-if.
You become its slave,
You share your lunch with it.
You just dream about that moment trapped on paper
that moment you decided
to give your thoughts wings to eternity.
Your words -
yet even sworn enemy.
There is a sense of forever that's hidden in your eyes.
A sense that no matter how much time will pass.
A promise that no matter how random the thought.
That somehow, you will always be there.
That same funny laugh, that devious smirk that lets me know
that your about to do something silly.
No matter how much time shall pass.
It will always be there to take my mind off of what ever is going on.
fiery crimson slash
on mountain canvas
false beauty above
truth hidden below
how low will they go
to tap the root
sip stolen nectar
to feed their bracted petal lies
protect the precious flower
from pestilence and weather
hummingbirds and hovering bees
take pollen honey-sweet
from the fertile center
spread the stealthy seed
Word of the day:
*bract – a specialized leaf surrounding a flower, sometimes larger than the flower itself. Poinsettia is a common example where the showy, red leaves (bracts) ring the smaller, yellow flower at the center. Paintbrush bracts are reddish green overlapping scales, protecting the yellow-tipped flower within.
The dark sky faded as the light comes bright;
it's the beginning of the dawn.
As the light glimpse on my face,
but still cover with dim.
This anguish of mine,still hide
and i think the last hope is burning
deep inside is filled with
and hidden things
As i worn my veil
on this head of mine.
No one knows,
when will i put this veil down
as they can see my failures
as i could see my frailties.
I still keep moving forward
to reach the light
and let go out of darkness;
pale thoughts to bring me down.
To save the last hope,not to
I see the light and it reflects on me.
i see my reflection.
behind me,i see my savior.
He tried to put back
the veil on me
as what he did before;betrayer.
but i get it and burned down
i left quickly without him.
As i found,my savior was a traitor.
The most precious and rare of jewels
Are found in the darkest of caves
Under the most intense pressure
Beneath the dirt and detritus
Only those equipped with a pickaxe forged of patience,
A gentle hand,
And a discerning eye
Will be lucky enough to find
These raw jewels in the rough
Whose beauty lies well beneath the surface
You may machine cut and polish
Synthetic stones all you like
However, there is no comparison of worth
To jagged jewels which have been ripped from the earth,
Washed, refined, and faceted with the care
Of a kind and gentle hand
Who am I?
I am love
but I am not love.
I wear love’s coat,
like a blanket
and hold its
sweet, sweet smell
a perfume too expensive to touch.
Those who dare,
always pay the price.
I am not as kind as love.
I do not care.
I do not embrace with loving arms.
The heart rules the mind.
your body the master of your heart.
Your soul is tossed aside.
It is no worth to me.
I am a coward.
I flee at the sight
and do not help.
It is not my job,
My job is to leave you enshrouded
intrigued torn upon captivated enthralled clouded
in the mystery that you thought
I am not love.
never will be
I am the jealous best friend.
The one always trying to steal the limelight.
Who sometimes comes before love.
With grimy hands,
Covered in jeweled gloves.
I do not feel with the heart,
I feel with the body.
Sensual. Aroused. Intimate. And stimulated.
Who am I?
I am lust.