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We hadn't spoken
Too much had been left unsaid
Now silence sits there

Collecting the dust
Like one of your projects
Waiting to be fixed

Never forgotten
But not cared for as it was
Left 'till much too late

You left suddenly
A quick fix out the back door
Me left unfinished

Still,

I'll remember you
As I choose to- the Tinker
Everything just so

You'd sit at your bench
Stripping the wood of varnish
Bringing out beauty

Polish here, dust there
Every detail adjusted
Perfection strived for

Now that you are gone
Your antiques your legacy
I'll remember you

For the good in you
And I will try to forgive
you the dark hours

I will have to start
Mending memories that you built
A Tinker's daughter

Rewiring my grief
Sitting at your workbench and
Stripping it of guilt

Sit and watch, Tinker
Watch me try to mend a heart
Left in disrepair

Polish here, dust there
Every detail adjusted
Acceptance strived for
 Jan 2014 Tien - Tim
Jenn Yeo
She watches you with careful eyes, a wicked heart and dreadful lies
Waiting until the moment when you can't bare to breath anymore
She walks in with perfect strides, movements so smooth as if she glides
and she comes to when you are collapsed in a heap on the floor

She tells you dear there is a place, somewhere off in time and space
She'll take you there if you agree, the trip is now and the ticket is free
All the pain will suffice and this she says is no lie
It is a world of no pain nor hurt and where all your thoughts can be heard

Everyone will be happier if you come with me she says; trust me your parents will understand
Think of the adventure, think of the peace, think of the opportunity, don't you trust me?
She pulls you in so close but her hands they feel so awfully cold.
She says I only want the best for you, come with me like I need you to

And so you agree to go because she's advised its best but you get this sinking feeling in your chest
You can tell somethings not right, as you journey father away and emerge in this light
At first you are blinded but all you hear is screams, surrounding you in a place of peace
but you recognize voices and you start to hear weeps; you find out soon it's your family

They know that you've left and you feel like you're going to *****, this was not what she had promised
You realize you need to go back but she ignores your pleas, even when you go down to your knees
You feel so angry, so weak and so torn but you continue to try to beg on the floor
Listen to me you scream but you loose your breath when you realize this woman was in fact death

Death can be beautiful, or so she may seem but inside shes rotten, cold and so mean
Don't do what she asks of you please; she's is all around us and your heart ache she sees
She will feed off of your pain, sorrow and emptiness until she can take one more victim off of her checklist
This is not right but this is the tragic end; remember death is the enemy and not a friend.
 Jan 2014 Tien - Tim
Marian
No Tears
 Jan 2014 Tien - Tim
Marian
No tears, I will not allow any tears tonight,
For tonight you are going to be the Queen of Night,
I demand no tears, my girl;
For everywhere you are, happiness doth twirl.
Please do not cry, you looked so sad,
I would much rather almost have you mad,
I cannot stand to see you cry, oh my Mother dear!
But if you do I will transform them into a jade instead of a tear.
Bless you, my girl, my sweetheart dear,
Do not ever shed a tear,
My dear girl, do not cry, I always love you;
Do not ever even feel blue.
Please let me do something for you,
I'll write some poems and give you a hug or two,
Because you deserve all the love I can give;
And if I am the cause, I beg you to me forgive.

I love you, Mommy!

**~Marian~
Written for my Mom, as she was feeling very sad/down tonight!!! ~~~<3
Please don't feel sad, Mom, tonight... I'm going to make you the Queen of Night!! :) ~~~<3
LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER, MOMMY!!!! (: ~~~~~~~<3
 Jan 2014 Tien - Tim
Ink
The wind howls
outside my bedroom window
shaking me
my heart; my soul

it screams
while you sit there
drinking sweet-smelling coffee
a baby boy in Africa
cries of hunger
and aching ribs.

while you are curled up
under warm and soft blankets
an old and lonely man
wanders the darkest streets
looking for warmth;
a home

while you hide there
surrounded by light and family
with an aura of ungratefulness
you are lost in the rays of your technologies
with a frown on your angelic face
when a weeping woman
shakes and prays
for her gone children to reach Heaven happily
but you dare forget God to a screen?


my house shakes
from Wind's agonizing words
and a streak of cold
trickles into my haven
along with the words
"what am I doing?"

somehow
my stiff legs reach
a window
and the arms in front of me
pull it open
to reveal no sound at all

where is the wind?
did he leave just as
he touched
my heart; my soul
making me waver?
or does a gust not howl ,
speak,
and isn't heard?

no
the wind was here
for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes
suddenly freeze
and lose all of their beauty?

no one but Wind
would take the innocence
of such young and beautiful white specks
just as they landed
in this cold,
dark world

no one but Wind
would flare you with reality
enough to make you cry with obliviousness
for this wind; my Wind
he is the voice off all those
who have faced
life's stinging brutality;
him
instead of
hiding under covers
and whispering morbid lies
that
everything is okay
 Jan 2014 Tien - Tim
AntRedundAnt
No one is here and I feel at ease;
I feel the recesses of my imagination
spring forward as ideas are at the
forefront of my mind,
yet I cannot put them down on paper.

I feel the neon pinks and blues and greens
that I know strongly resonate with me,
but to my dismay,
nothing ever comes to fruition
as much as I hope.

That cliché phrase of, “The sky is the limit,”
drowns me as I realize
parameters and prompts are what guide me
to what I truly want;
the idea of freedom gives me anxiety,
as I am a clueless ant on this plane.

As I look at a solitary trashcan
of impossible black,
this idea of suffocation
truly
encompasses
my mind, inescapable, unreachable, and unattainable.

Yet at the same time,
limits **** darlings.

With this seeming paradox
of open-endedness and limitation,
I set forth on my prompt,
however mundane it may seem now.
This task seemed at first simple,
but it proved difficult at times,
like most mundane looking venues.

My mind is not unlike
a checkerboard stone table:
cold and calculating;
I feel my imagination dies
when my fingers touch keys,
when pen hits paper.

“The sky is the limit,”
drowns me over
and over
and over again.

I look out of my peripherals
and glance at the red building signs,
wishing there was something
as obvious as that for a sense
of direction in my life.

My imagination truly hates me,
my imagination truly loves me;
it is an indecisive companion.

I wish I was alone, but my mind
wishes otherwise.
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