"Once, I believed in you like a poem, turned your heart into a metaphor for my heart, turned our mouths into honey and caramel lozenges.
But metaphors come and metaphors go,
and not even seasons have the courtesy to stay till dawn."
- Shinji Moon
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
It's been days now
and I've changed my mind again
Not because of you
or where I lay my head
but the rattle
from the tracks
Where we were headed
and where we ended up.
It's not because of her,
the moon is sought
by all dreamers to come.
Nor is it today's breeze
or the flow of the river.
But the amazing
the simple and
the beautiful.
We were meant
to do great things
And we did.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
I want to believe that everything happens for a reason;
a reason that isn't decided by fate,
or destiny.
I want to believe that when my greatest ideas
occur within my mind,
rewire the frayed and sabotaged circuits
that run across the wasteland entirely,
that the changes that induce within me
that ultimately decide who I am
are just something more than that;
something with infinite meaning
and universal truth.
I want to believe that this truth,
like the universe,
is self-knowing.
Not for the pleasure of having truth
but for the chance to even slightly comprehend
whether this connection with the eternal
is truly eternal.
I want to believe in a universal enlightenment;
the chance to know the universe
and the mind
are one in the same.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
Ascending ever higher
This drag race
Rollercoaster
Elevator
Of ours
Risk at its highest
Guards taken down
Yet every move forward
Farther the ground
Above the horizon
Above all the clouds
Shooting for the stars
There we can be found
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
2 am
Land,
luggage,
end reality.
Bad weather means
delayed flight,
glued in tonight
still, adventure
beckons
from glass pane
separating
airport
and
New York City;
Our escape.
5 hours till next flight.
Sheer immensity
of silver obelisks,
so cleanly cut
edges like razorblades,
have grasped our curiosity,
slicing binding adhesive
of bad weather,
anchoring our release
into the cold mist.
We wander beyond
our time limit.
Bright,
despite night.
City never sleeps,
still peaceful
on the other side of day.
Making way
street by street,
exploring what we can
while we can.
The amount of exploring
one gets done
with a time limit.
4 hours
Alleyways,
streets, parallel
zigzag back and forth
up and down.
Some lit,
others
bleeding darkness,
over pouring
with lost souls.
With a clouded sense
of direction,
one tends to find lost
at every corner.
3 hours
Like bugs at night,
we stick to the light.
We strive to make it back
before our time is up.
Nervousness settles in
as sight seeing
becomes partial.
New objective,
return to airport.
Mental maps being yelled
back and forth.
Still nobody knows
which is right.
2 hours left.
Familiar street
or frame of block,
memory shoots through mind
like lightning arcing through the sky
providing the route back
to salvation.
The Scarlet Speedster
known as The Flash
has never known speed
comparable to
my brothers and I
nervously rushing
back to JFK.
With our last hour
we check in our baggage
and board our plane.
Though not our destination,
it would be pointless to pass up
the late night delicacies
of New York City.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
Locked in battle,
opponent glaring
into soul.
One of the best
against the best.
Undefeated
to say the least.
Lack self confidence,
left eye twitches.
Opponent pounces
at slightest hint
of weakness.
Death glare ensues
as I witness
my whole life
flash before my eyes.
Checkmate.
As I stare into
the endless void
of those eyes,
Eternity herself
becomes visible.
Too much to behold,
loss of footing.
Trip.
Blink.
Oreo the cat,
champion once again.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
As I walk up those chipped, wooden steps,
The smell of authenticity fills my nostrils.
Salivation onsets, like a tidal wave.
My stomach groans, as if possessed.
I enter their Kingdom, nestled humbly atop Apartment A.
The Queen, front and center of stove,
As her loyal princesses scurry like mice
Trying to help fellow colony members.
But true tradition doesn't need help;
What's necessary is the amount of time required
To perform such tasty feats of grandeur.
So, like every meal before,
Grandma has squeezed dry the fruit of tradition.
My dish, staring me down as I await
My fellow colony members to be seated.
As if it were both my first and last meal in the world,
I quickly begin to fill the caverns of my stomach.
With an abundance of tortillas and menudo,
There's no time in between bites to acknowledge
The cousins sitting at both of my shoulders.
Our roots run deep; still waters have nothing.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
Today, I must write a poem:
What this poem has to say
has yet to come to mind.
Has yet to ignite like a spark
on a cord
making its way
to an explosive source of ideas.
Such an amenity
so unlikely to be found
happening here.
I must again mine for thoughts.
So, along with my pickaxe,
I trek with good memories
to return me safely back
from the deepest recesses of my mind.
I hunt.
For idea. For inspiration,
For I cannot return
empty handed.
I dig. And I dig. And I dig.
It feels like forever,
as if there's nothing left,
as if the mountain of my mind
was tapped dry long ago.
I check every crevice,
every corner, and nook,
now ridden with old
and reused ideas.
And then I find it:
The first flower of spring;
the cloud in clear sky;
the single rock of inspiration;
possibly the last chunk of idea
for years to come
simply sitting there,
lighting up
the dark caverns of my mind,
waiting to take shape.
As I begin to mold
As I begin to sculpt
"It" is no longer an it.
Ideally, it's an idea
that has succumbed to the darkest,
most vile parts of my mind.
Yet, despite,
has been brought out the depths of
being just an idea, withering away;
it has been realized.
It has been successfully plucked
at its time of harvest.
It has become so much more;
this once coal of an idea
has been polished,
and glimmers just as bright
as its diamond-like companions.
So, I return
with yet another triumph,
from braving the dark and cold
labyrinth of my mind
yielding my trophy;
my idea.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC