I will start with a hello.
A handshake, an introduction, a beginning.
Then it will grow,
from an exchange of names
to playing mind games and discussing our fames.
You've always been the talker,
the initiator, the instigator.
And I; the listener, the adviser and friend
to give you a silent prod in the right direction
when the sidewalk comes to an end.
I take no form; no shape, no size.
I'm not the truth, nor the lies.
I am not a human, or a living creature.
I have no body parts, or any features.
But I can think, sure I can.
And I can act as any other man.
The reason why I still exist
is not meant to be a mystery
buried deep inside your inner abyss.
In fact, it lingers right in front of you
and dances before your eyes.
It isn't meant to be shocking news;
or an unforeseen surprise.
Even if you can't see me,
I'm always here as company;
the guest that never leaves.
And even if I wanted
to pick up my shoes,
get up and move,
my nonexistent feet
would stop me in my tracks
and I'd be heading back to your street
fast, fast, fast.
I'd be back before the count of two;
and if you wonder why,
let me ask this question of you:
why is it that we've never parted,
or even said goodbye?
Here is my answer to you:
We are bonded together by super glue,
joined by the brain, the heart and soul, too.
If that sounds confusing, I'll give you another clue;
you live in me, just like I live in you.
I am poetry;
metaphors and similes,
dotted i's and crossed t's.
So fill my cup with the wine of your words,
swallow me whole and be free as the birds
flying through the endless sky
as clouds and airplanes pass you by.
Stanzas and rhymes will flow down your throat
like that of a current, which carries a boat
and takes it to its destination;
the end goal, the aspiration.
They'll travel down with ballads marked in cursive,
with scribbled sonnets and haikus and verses.
Then when they finally reach the heart,
you'll know that it's no longer just words but art.
Because your poems are colours that brighten the walls
by splashing blank canvases and bathroom stalls.
I am poetry;
the pencil and the paper.
But you are the hand, the thinker, the maker.
So paint the world a picture
through your beautiful literature
because your words are your wand
so show us the magic and create the bond
between the fixed and the broken,
the sleeping and the woken,
the written and the spoken.
Pick me up and let me scrawl
down your words and then install
them into the minds of everyone
and they'll be stunned by the
brightness of your sun.
You'll shine with radiance and glory
so keep on telling your story
because your words are your life,
your victories and your strife.
You are the creator, the teacher, the reverend;
but this time, I will subside
because you are the guide,
and your words are your legend.
.
There's no peekin'
when you're sleepin',
so I better put these
tip toes to the test.
I've seen you in dreams.
I've even prayed
in younger years,
that one day
I'll make sense the world about me.
Little did that child know
that an ocean became a wall,
where only the bravest bird
gets there,
unprepared like me,
and becomes enthralled
by her beauty in every word.
Locked inside your hug,
ear to ear,
to hear you softly breathe
upon my nervous body,
I could listen for days
and be schooled for years,
tight in your hug
like completing a puzzle,
for this is where
my heart feels freer!
-Mark Lach
I often wonder what it is you don't like about me
is it the way I leave my hair unbrushed
and tucked behind my ear?
the way I can't speak
whenever you're near?
the way I try too hard
but still don't know what to say?
the way I can't seem
to keep my demons at bay?
the way I can't sit still?
the way I'm always filled with dread?
the way I can't seem to get it right?
the way I blush bright red?
the way I bite my nails?
the way I like everything about you?
because these are the things I don't like about myself
so I'll understand if you don't like them too
I can't imagine a life without you
No one to comfort me
When I am weak,
No one to share the joy
When I do something dumb,
No one to tell me "Get well soon"
The same way you'd tell me,
No one to share secrets with
When they're dying to be let out,
No one to call me late at night
When everyone is sleeping but I'm afraid,
No one to crack lame jokes,
No one to say "I'm speshul" all the time and just
Laugh
Endlessly
Even though we might have just
Cried
I can't imagine a life without you
I've never laughed so much in my life
I've never felt so
Reassured
That someone
Understands
And
Looks out for me,
Worries for me if I
Die;
I've never felt so
Appreciated
Receiving all the
Beautiful cards and
Fanciful handicrafts
All made lovingly by
Your perfect hands;
I've never felt so
Comforted
To know that
You won't
Ever
Break your promise
I can't imagine a life without you
All the time we spent together
Fated or
Not so fated,
I was overjoyed to think
I knew someone in SAP!
All the time we talked to each other,
Told each other
Funny stories or
Sad stories or
Real-life stories that made us sad
And then the other party would
Somehow,
Always,
Magically relate
And try to help;
Might take a while
But it always
Makes me smile.
All the time we'd laugh that slow laugh
And no one would understand us
And we'd just
Laugh even more:
Heh...heh...Hahahahaha...
I can't imagine a life without you
The first day of school
Not meeting you
And there'd be no one to
Talk about having "the mood"
And there'd be no one to
Laugh about having a lao gong;
And there'd be no one to
Talk me out of dying or
Telling me
Time after time to
Appreciate my life or
Just be random with and
Cheer up :)
I can't imagine a life without you
Not you
And you
And you
And you
Just one gone
It means so much
Each one gave my life
Her special touch
So don't you ever
Try to leave
My heart would stop
And I won't breathe
I'd die right there
I'd die right then
It's not the same without you
Not ever again
You come home late in your short skirt
You're such a flirt, that's what really hurt
I pretend to be asleep as you enter
You see at this game I'm a beginner
In my universe you've become the center
I'm never sure what to say or do
When I get the blues
So I act a fool
Under your breath you start to giggle
You crawl in bed and start to wiggle
My emotions get so fickled
Inside I start to cringe
Cuz you need to make amends
Fast asleep I still pretend
Yet I guess you have your plan
And it's all that I can stand
When you whisper "You're my man!"
Don't wake me from this dream
It's not a bad dream
Hell I don't know what it means
First I start to waste away
Then you feel the need to play
Perhaps I'll figure life out someday...
He seems to be just like me in many ways
I have seen him on the bus a couple of days
He sits on the same place
He is like me he wants his own space
Earphones in one ear
A beat he hears
The music from his phone leaks
My head it seaks
His eyes tells me something
But probably it's nothing
It makes me smile to know that he will sit there
When I walk on the bus tomorrow
Maybe we should run away and forget all sorrow?
Kindred spirit, the privilege is mine, it's just that I,
I never finish because there is nothing going on, nothing to go on.
All right, all right, all right,
you're right,
I don't write as much as I used to,
but in all fairness (to myself)
I feel a bit more loose.
Never mean to,
but I guess I argue
a lot in order to hide
how much I really don't care;
Celina said it's not okay
but that at least I know
it's insulting.
I only want to be in my body
when you are touching it.
That tone an angel loaned
to you can ripple through
the void, make a soft,
translucent puddle out of reality,
can you see me
on the other side?
Don't say I'm angry,
it's just that
no one has ever really tried
to impress me, so I'm scared
I guess.
Remember you are here,
don't be weird about the types of things
sentimentality will bring,
will string along to the
forefront of an open sore;
no one pours the sink a whiskey
drink until the girls are crying out above the stars,
better yet stirring them from afar
for their own faults, for being
fickle with their hearts.
You know I don't sleep much,
You know I don't dream of such
pretty things but I could imagine
how you, in a different life,
were gifted eternal wings.
Those that brought you to me.
I would weep
if I wasn't made of stone.
Feel the quantum mechanics of time
in unknowing passion......
is not knowing until you know 3D/5D Time Travel with Love Beyond Quantum Gravity......
in known knowledge of infinite choices until U discover the passion of time travel comfort in the Quantum Gravity.
Math with science and space mingling with .....a mind with meditation with burning soul . . . . .
Where your every passion crossing infinite...naming a new galaxy and planet
among 400 billion galaxies & 79900 billion planets....
We are standing,..... still feeling God's Particle
Driving with quantum mechanics of time and Quantum Gravity of passion.....
there is much to be misunderstood and meditation
but it's brain streaming....
not to try
questioning why ??....
I always end up peeking .....
into places ....unknown entry into light year journey _
but quantum mechanics will always remind me
the only answers.....
I find my own depth of passion healing inside , feeling eternity...
sometimes i feel like a kitten,
gentle, naïve, unstable on my own two feet.
i am terrified yet fascinated by this strange, vast, enigmatic world.
all i really want is to be loved unconditionally and fed consistently,
and i want to sleep and dream for the majority of my days.
sometimes i am like the sea,
being pulled back and forth,
by the vacillating moon’s overpowering tides.
i have love in my heart and a breeze in my hair.
but at low tide, i am despondent, and i am bare, and i am soggy with chagrin.
i want to be loved, as i’ve previously mentioned,
by someone who will care for me at high tide with superfluity,
and even more at low tide.
often i am the moon and i often i am the stars.
sometimes the light of others makes it difficult to see me glistening.
sometimes i am not whole and there is not much of me to see.
but that is okay.
people see constellations they’ve made up when they look at me.
everybody’s constellations are different.
they are not always flattering, these constellations.
but it is okay. i cannot [and, therefore, will not] ever force somebody to see a supernova in me, when all that is visible to them is a filthy cloud of dust.
no, i refuse to descend to that level of desperation,
regardless of my irrational longing to be adored.
i picture myself as a gentle and delicate wood nymph—
i am graceful as well, a characteristic i have always wished for,
yet was never really able to obtain.
i am dancing through the forest, flowers in my hair,
cares and inhibitions nowhere in sight.
i am flying, i am laughing, i am dreaming, i am free.
but mostly i am a cluster of tiny flowers,
non-assuredly climbing out of the moist soil.
“hey, man..is it cool if i bloom here? i can go somewhere else if you please…
i don’t want to be a bother. i can? you sure?
is anybody going to step on me? are you sure?”
being a bunch of tiny flowers is confusing—
i don’t know who is going to think i am beautiful,
and you don’t know who is going to stomp all over me.
i am apprehensive, and i am unsure, and i am fragile to a fault.
she gave me 227 points out of 200 on my poetry portfolio.
she is lovely.
I've noticed
There are a few types of music
Music when you're happy
Music when you're sad
Music that makes you think of someone
And music that doesn't mean anything to you
Until certain things happen In your life
And it just moves you, speaks to you.
Heals you
Pushes you through the through
Glides you through the smooth
Music that I listen to when I'm only thinking of you.
But I never tried poetry
And now I realize
Poetry can be used
To explain love in great detail
An image in a readers mind
But love can mean many things
To the writer.
So the reader has to relate to it in someway
Dig deep within the lines
It's like finding a diamond in the rubble
But when they do their eyes come alive.
See a poem has to flow
Tell a story in someway
Poems that only make sense to me
Lust
Anger
Passion
And Rage
My mind is thinking of new
Lines every, single, day
See I never wrote poetry before I came here.
I see it as a land of peoples
Story's and Dreams
A land of people who
Get heat-broken and Shattered
And write about the things they've seen
People that write about the dark valleys in their mind
People who write poems about their lovers,
as you read their words come alive.
People who write about their struggles and addiction
A place where everything in their mind is in one place
and most of it is non-fiction.
But poetry for me
Are my Demons scrawled
Across these pages
And my story's to tell
This place is where I drown them
They lay there in that thing
The thing I used to call the Wishing Well.
If they're here, they're not in my mind
Emotion in my lines
But the reader has to Look, Imagine and Relate
But when they do, their minds come alive.
Now I know this
Poem may not be the best
And It's not meant to be
Because this is a poem that will only make sense to me
Just another Demon
I have thousands and this is just one less.
But now I come here everyday
In the hope I can feel something and relate to somebody else in some sort of way
People who I don't know but I can read and read
Pages upon pages and for a moment my mind becomes less tense and I start to believe.
I didn't mention the Angels
Because they're quiet
They only come when I rest
I think a lot
But I know they're always silent
During the Test.
