when Lyrid decides to finally fall
and burn everything in her wake
find me when the smoke clears
even when you think there is nothing left to save
once you sift through the ashes
and still wonder whether I survived
meet me at the place where four orbs house a fire
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:09 AM UTC
a usurper ascended the throne
but the King’s daughter was hidden away
the guards entered all the taverns
and excluded all the babes with raven hair
almond eyes look up from unwashed faces
inconclusive at best so they were spared
under the ancient oak, the Oracle once said,
“inclusion will mark her reign”
but a thousand hearts have already bled
it seemed like a lifetime ago
and the young men who fought the war are no more
memories come to die in a field of gold
all seemed lost ‘til the heavens began to cry
the usurper’s son fell in love with a maiden
who had silver hair and purple eyes
the histories are unkind but soon you will learn
the throne was never lost
because the King’s daughter returned
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:05 AM UTC
Mr. Rockwell was known for wearing a gold watch
while Mrs. Rockwell hid her pearls in a silver box
they were none the wiser when a thief came in the night
until morning came and the maids shrieked out of fright
the box was found in the garden with a fingerprint left on top
which finger—the middle one—and then the police laughed
it is like a game, you see, the winner just needs six or eight points
wanna bet against someone who traded his soul for coins?
since the time the British stole Assyrian clay tablets
humans cheat and lie, but not these papillary ridges
islands and deltas and hooks and eccentric turns
never two people, looks like one just got burned
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:02 AM UTC
it’s like the Montagues and the Capulets
but set in fair Pampanga
a little less star-crossed lovers
and a lot more steel pipes featured in our drama
the townsfolk screamed bloødy mųrder
but the wounds healed after ten days or more
barring any complications
the high chair condemned them to arresto mayor
there was conspiracy indeed—
a joint and conceited purpose to assault
it was no tumultuous affray
and all the basțards got caught
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:01 AM UTC
there was arching in my chest
and the edges were rounded and vermillion red
these lungs were working perfectly fine
until you decided that this was the end
you were my sire and my grandsire
there is pain and then there is this pain
more questions than you have answers for
not even a word for this kind of shame
bones have long caged this heart
even before it knew what to defend against
they say there is light at the end of the tunnel
but all I see is a paradox instead
my first and last breath are one and the same
you can ask for absolution but it is both too soon and too late
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC
they once said,
“No young Filipina of decent repute. . . ”
but just like clock work
they now say, it is all my fault
the bell may ring thrice
and these hands may strike nine
as if lacerations tell my story
of spilled blood red wine
but what is decency
if not something they shoved down my throat
there are legends and myths up my skirt
for those who dare to seek the truth
I vow to raise your daughter
to fly towards the sun with no restraint
she will know her scriptures
but not all fathers are saints
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 9:58 AM UTC
I am but one of many in a field of white
tears glistening like dewdrops catching first light
good sir, they call me “Daisy,”
but I have nothing else to my good name
you plucked me out of isolation,
like a wild heart to be tamed
back and forth, push and pull, misery and more misery
tension fills the air,
where is your honor? where is my dignity?
I fight back but it back fires
yellow hearts hide on skin in plain sight
acute pain as sharp as a blade of grass
I mourn who you are and I mourn who I was
two revolutions around the sun has burned everything to the ground
tranquility is temporary when the fire is inside the house
when the rain comes tomorrow, I pray you will drown
and I will be in a field of white wearing a gold crown
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 9:54 AM UTC
I will find my way back to you on Montmartre’s cobblestone streets.
Imagine Hemingway right next to us, rambling on about his moveable feast.
Like free-spirited birds, I will race you to the top of Sacré-Cœur.
Before you can catch your breath,
I promise the view would steal it once more.
I want to see every inch of the Louvre, we would probably get lost for days;
But we are smiling like fools, I bet it would put Mona Lisa to shame.
We can stroll along the Seine, and haggle with bouquinistes near Notre Dame.
I will find an artist to paint you,
But first show me how a monsieur should love a madam.
I utter a prayer at Sainte-Chapelle, as I immortalize you in stained glass.
Maybe as we wander aimlessly along Champs-Elysées, Degas would teach us how to dance.
I will tell you all my secrets, the way kings and queens did once.
Even Rodin would call it treason not to cast these two lost souls in bronze.
We can have a picnic at the Tuileries, and you can bring me flowers from Monet's backyard.
I will make a wish before they wilt; Don’t we all hope for the best before we die?
And right here in the in-betweens, we have love to keep us alive,
As foolish and innocent as the way Picasso painted like a child.
Seasons are changing, and soon we will say goodbye.
The Tour Eiffel glistened in all its glory as darkness fell on the city of lights.
Paris, it has been an honor to love and be loved by you.
In a few years or maybe in a heartbeat—
I will come home to you soon.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC