The underworld calls
I seek entrance to that invisible realm
The ferryman waves
I saved my coins, but he says my coins are no good in his world, so
He tells me to wait
I hear whispers
The ferryman laughs and the turning waters summon me
Another journey
into darkness
I pay the ferryman
The underworld calls
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
Rouge, threaded dragons intertwined with oriental cherries
stain a mockery of silk spread across an unsteady table.
The lady, dwarfed by the redwood counter,
has skin stretched taught across the bones of her temples
only to softly be drooped and draped around her jowls.
She caught both my eyes in the little dips of her palms
but wrinkles worked onto her face are focused on receipts
and she is obviously oblivious that her hands, veined with sickly blue,
had struck me so hard that my head is thudding numbly.
Her nails are narrow and naturally long,
set into the spotted skin of her delicate fingers,
pulling at a memory bathed in red by the Chinese lanterns
hanging over me, the couple near the kitchen and tiny Mrs Huang.
Her hands gesture to me after calling my order twice
and I walk towards them to take the sterile, plastic packet
so that I can finally exit to the alley and spit into the gutter
a touch of an image much too familiar
to only belong to Mrs Huang.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Come walk through the grains with me
Sand shimmering like stars
Constellations of symmetry
See them join and split apart
Come watch over new stars with me
Sparks dancing in our eyes
Starlight like you could never see
Make our home among the skies
Come paint these skies blue with me
Hide and seek between the clouds
Dive right into a stormy sea
Roam unseen depths darkness enshrouds
Come make mountains move with me
Paint monumental worlds
A playground of pure fantasy
Watch your minds power unfurl
Come and wander this world with me
Adventure awaits the bold
Surmount a cliff or climb a tree
What mysteries do cities hold?
Come fly to the stars with me
Let's make this journey never end
I'll be the boat to your sea
All you will need is a pen
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
I am help captive in the arms of my captor
Only looking at the future it gave, no other
Walking up the path filled with grave-given, fallen flowers
I rise above the clouds having hope as my only power
This is she to me, España y Filipinas
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
I am the girl in this forest but you can't see me as human
You are used to call me a different cognomen
I have been trying so hard just to make you see
But you still find a dark and scary creature in me
Those dead bodies buried six feet below the ground
I hear their souls calling, I hear the gloomy sound
Into your cruel minds, I was the criminal
You cleave into my name the darkest pin of betrayal
I wonder why you always see me as a dark creature
And you only look at my color as my valid nature
Look at the moon that shines brightly over me
She wants to show who I am and yet you cannot see
I am the girl in this forest, I am a human like you
It is your mind, it is your eyes that don't see what is true
Your mind thinks all the darkness, your eyes see what's skin deep
You paint in me an image that will make me mourn and weep
I'm just a girl in this forest who cease myself to live as free
For no matter what I do, a scary crow is what you see.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
You are my ocean,
Full of life and patience,
From all the fishes in the sea,
You are the one that feeds me.
You are my mountain,
Sturdier than any craven,
From above you watched over me,
Keeping me safe from my killing spree.
You are my sky,
Your vast kindness covers the azure high,
Soaring through the air with your white wings,
Healing and nurturing every of my being.
You are my inferno,
Your voice gives me courage for the morrow,
Burning passion fills your eyes,
Chasing after your dreams for miles.
You are my friend,
Always by my side till the end,
I won't like to see you alone,
So lets bump fists our friendship do regrow.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
some things are not meant to be returned
be it a library’s borrowed book
or hands that cannot hold ours and leave us cold
because we need those things
as reminders of the people
who once borrowed or took what belongs to us
and in our story
i know why i remember you so well:
it is my warmth which you borrowed
and my heart that you took
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC