daniel-christopher-chavez
Filipino
What I write is based on past experiences, dreams, daydreams, scenarios, or current personal events. / / I do not feel like the rest of my small biography right now. Instead, I will compose a list of what I believe makes up the riddle of my being: Christian, space cadet, singer/songwriter, performer, short, anxious, hyperhidrotic, lactose intolerant......um wow...I'm totally caught in a blank trying to describe myself. Well a short list is better than no list at all. / / http://dchaz.blogspot.com/ / http://www.facebook.com/himynameisdanielchavez / http://youtube.com/danielsnotcool / http://twitter.com/danielsnotcool
Oh what a perfect moment this is
To tell you you’re beautiful
I can’t break the boundaries that
Hold me in and whisper your name
I had my doubts in finding someone like you
Because before we met the world seemed so hazy
But now everything is clearer
I can see you here even as it gets dark
Fate has never seemed
more synchronized to me
But yet it shows through us meeting
And this could be so wonderful;
we have the chance to listen closely
to if our hearts are on the same beat
Would you take my hand,
If I offered it as a way to keep you close to me?
Would you take my heart,
If I said I trust you with its vulnerability?
The day fades into darkness
The violet sky cools our skin gently
Oh what a perfect moment it is
To tell you I love you
I can take you away
If you trust me that I will keep you safe
I can provoke your laugh
For I want your smile forever and always
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
He fell in the lake,
the native boy,
who lived in island shaped like a ring
An island abundant in magic fruit
From trees whose roots drink from the lake
He fell in the lake,
the native boy
who had just become a man
Still young and curious
He questioned who he was
A boy who helped those who needed
A man who stood against unfair odds
A son who managed the hut with his father
A friend to "she"
Though he secretly loved her
He fell in the lake,
the native boy
The lake in which the indigenous believed special
that bore the fruit that granted long life
that solidified the scattered ashes of the dead
into smooth blue pebbles
...that brought oblivion to those who touched a mere drop
He fell in the lake,
the native boy
Crossing the bridge, with a flower at hand
Preparing a speech to his closest friend
"I've loved you for a while, I must confess"
But he'd take it with him through the broken planks
He fell in the lake,
the native boy
It pulled him to the bottom
He tried to hold on to each memory
But each one...forgotten
He fell in the lake,
the native boy
May 12, 2011
May 12, 2011 at 11:11 PM UTC
I always had enough time to spend with you
But I selfishly made it all mine
Masked behind my excuses
Oh lover, half my life
I'm now afraid I cannot change things
"Forever. Until the end of time."
At least that's a promise I can still keep
I never wrote you back
Letting you know I was thinking about you
I used up all my chances
Thinking that someday I'll come back to you
I've tried my best to wake up
To realize that I'm still in bed with you
But reality's pain replaced you
Now it's sad that I finally face the truth
So this is it
My eyes shut tight
I bask in the last thought on my mind
The day you said yes to "Would you be mine?"
I thought I would make it through
I want to tell you I'm sorry
For not loving you
The way that it used to be
I cry out your name as I hold your picture close
And as the countdown ends
I think about our first kiss
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 9:58 PM UTC
You run, you break away
You've won your life today
You call on the ones that inspired you
But someday you'll grow weary
You wear a mask when you pray
You say the words you cannot taste
Would you claim? Would you sell your soul?
In your objective will you still end up whole?
Just go and take the hearts of those who care about you
Sell them for madness, sell them for the poison that loves you
Forget about us,
just go and have fun as you wish to
You dance, you laugh
You drink, you have
A fabulous time in the devil's backyard
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
You stand across the room
Everyone looks at you
Among every face
I catch your gaze
so sit with me
You compliment my name
You say that I am strange
I love the way you are
so beautiful even as you turn away
I see your view on life
I wish you could borrow my eyes
We're running out of time
Oh please don't die
Oh please don't die
Do you want to go with me?
I swear you're something special
I know you were born in tragedy
But I'll show you the world's beautiful
I loved your view on life
But I wish you had my mind
I'm running out of time
I'll compromise
For you I die
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
He walks through a wood once every month
He takes the same route near The Wishing Pond
He meets with the Collector in a secluded building
Who never fails to purchase every new painting
The man was an artist, the Collector was a fan
His works and his reputation was known throughout the land
The Artist had it all: a nice house, a loving wife,
friends in every town and city, and wealth to last his life
Every month, another painting
Every month, the Collector's money
His life was set, his life was perfect
All he needed as an artist was a self portrait
So this next month's painting would be special
For when he would pass, this will be his memorial
He started on an early morning, standing in front of a mirror
With skill and patience, shading and texture, the first sketch was done
The painting process took a few days
Without sleep or food, for hours in his room he stayed
Near the end of the month, the portrait finally done
Proud and exhausted, the artist exclaimed, "This is a special one."
The next day, he readied his portrait to take
To the Collector, who was expecting to be amazed
With a glance at the picture before he could leave
He noticed many flaws and said, "I want a perfect me"
He sent a letter explaining the delay
To the Collector, disappointed, he lessened the pay
For days, the Artist fixed each flaw
The big ears, the small nose, the feminine jaw
Every day he found a new imperfection
But after months and months of fixing, he achieved satisfaction
He took his self portrait on his once monthly walk
To the Collector's house, pass The Wishing Pond
He tripped on a rock, dropping his portrait
Falling into the pond, his art was ruined
The canvas had sunk, the water grew murky
The paint spread around and clouded before him
The cloudy colors swirled in the water's waves
The Artist, distraught, sat in heartache
A figure rose from the water, the colors had faded
He recognized it immediately as the perfection he painted
His portrait was alive for to not be was imperfect
His creation looked back at him and exclaimed, "I am The Artist"
Throughout the years, the portrait had adopted The Artist's life
With perfect skills, perfect fame, and even the love of his wife
The Collector, impressed by its own work, gave it double the pay
He also terminated his contract, he and the Artist had made
The Artist was left with nothing
His life stolen by his painting
Embodied perfection had taken it all
Living wishful thinking, alive from The Pond
He tasked, and pushed, and berated himself to achieve perfection
He succeeded, but lost everything to his perfect version.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
There are framed memories of a man and woman
They're placed together on a small table
They smile and smile to those who view them
Those who envy the captured love immortal
Near the table sits the woman
Her face buried in her arms
Tear spots cover her sleeves and fingers
Pouring from a broken heart
One more look at the framed memories
The man packs his clothes
One more look before he leaves
He has decided to live alone
Once outside, he reaches in his pocket
Pulls out a picture he used to keep safe
The first of him with the woman
He rips it in hopes the memory would fade
Before he goes, he checks the time
His watch frozen on the hour o' seven
He then corrects it with a few winds
Moving the hour hand to eleven
With a slight tick,
It went in reverse
Then came a tock,
The seconds went backwards
The watch sped up
In its clockwise counter
First seconds, then minutes,
then reverse by the hour
The man's life memories flashed all around him
The pictures on the table back at home were alive
Each memory, each photo, every thought and emotion
Revealed to his heart a renewed mind
Every memory with the woman framed back at home
Revealed itself in reverse, reminding him of his love
The watch continued to rewind, then started to slow
Eventually it stopped the backwards flow
He checked his watch once again
The seventh hour displayed
Around, a familiar ambiance
The ripped photo did not fade
His first moment with his love
Captured in a photograph
He remembered how it all started
He remembered the love he used to have
The watch then moved forward with double the speed
The memories before him passed
It stopped at eleven, before he would leave
The first photo, intact, in his hand
He put it back in his pocket
Wiped away his tears
Realized that he still loved her
The woman in the photos throughout the years
He ran back inside
found his still crying lover
They both exchanged apologetic stares
And ran to hold each other
He kissed her with a renewed love
From the framed memories in the room
She held on, forgiving, embracing his hug
As he promised "I will always love you"
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC