All things are made.
Some by craft.
Some by art.
Some by God.
Things can't choose
How they are made.
Some by graft.
Some by draft.
Some by greed.
Lucky are those
Who are made beautiful
And pity for those
Who are not.
Lucky for those
Who are made by gold
And pity for those
Who believe they are.

Books are meant to be read
Not to be judged
As water to be drunk
Not to be eaten.
Like you,
You deserve to be alive
Not to be dead.
You died for a day
But you lived for years.
Think about it.
It's not worth it.

No color,
No brush,
No painter,
Can ever paint your dazzling philosophy of life that is written all over your body and soul.

I was once a seedling
And you were the sun.
You shed me rays for my photosynthesis
As I extended both my cotyledons
And embraced the warmth you had bestowed.
And now I am a forest.
My branches are strong.
My roots are wild. My trunks are big.
And its all because of you
My sun that warms.

I played my match
With a tree beside me.
I never could have imagined
It would cause it to burn.
There was fire.
I wasn't afraid.
But instead,
I played with it
With marshmallows
Pinned on my stick.
I too was burnt.
So I fought fire with fire
Until we turned to ashes.
But we are made from ashes.
And we are reborn.

We talk about pebbles.
We talk about stars.
We talk about constellations
And even about mars.
We were magnificent.
Nevertheless we are.
We do the 'towels and tent'.
We do it great so far.
I am your universe.
A solar system perhaps.
The planets are our fingers
That fill our bold gaps.

We draw the distance between us closer even the odds are imaginary.
We intersect at such point though we are parallel.
Our lines are right, aren't they?

Time and space make it isometric, real.
Is it actually real?
Or actually a tangential feeling which is only adjacent to the vertex of love?
That I understand not.

Mind over matter I must.
Letting the ratio completely imbalance I fall to the critical values of emotion.
The ***** is steeper. I fall if I don't run.

But I think I might just continue to extend the line wherever it takes me.
It might stop or infinitely endure the constraints it intersects.
Well, the plane is vast.
But oh, the world is small.

I

will

A

ways

B

with

U

I always wanted to be a writer
So I can express fully what I feel.
I always wanted to be a painter
So I can paint my imagination so real.
I always wanted to be a traveler
So I can explore seas and mountains.
I always wanted to be an astronaut
So I can see the space and stars up close.
I always wanted to be a programmer
So I can see the beauty behind the codes.
I always wanted to be an archaeologist
So I can see things worth discovering.
I always wanted to be a singer
So I can sing the songs I can write.
I always wanted to be a philosopher
So I can impose the ideas I've observed.
Lastly, I always wanted to be with you
So these things I wanted to do
Will be memorable and worthwhile.

I am a candle
That emits fire.

My own poetries
Will be the flame
That will always give
Light upon you.

It may consume
Myself and die
But at least for sure
I contributed
Something special
To your life
From my soul.

If only I have the wings to fly
I'll surely roam around the world.

If only I have all the confidence to try
I'll definitely find anyone to mold.

If only I have all the money to buy
I'll buy a companion with me to hold.

If only I have all the tears to cry
I'll cry a thousand rivers ten-fold.

If only I have what it takes to be a guy
I should have offered her a ring of gold.

If only I have tried to move on by
I should have never been this cold.

I will paint just like how I kiss.
My lips as the brush
And your skin as the canvas.
I will paint just like how I ***.
My soul as the color
And your body as the scene.

I stab death to die itself
To start a new life instead.
But never do I notice
That I killed the man
Myself have known
And leave the ones
I do not know.
Now, the confusion is real.
I feel lonely even I surround myself
With the crowd I know and don't.
I feel foolish in stabbing the man
With my knife that feeds with memories.
Now I do not remember
Who I am and who I am not.
I don't even feel my existence
Anymore somehow.

I shall undress you.
I shall wear my skin.
I shall feel the warmth of our body
And our sweat shall rejoice.
I shall play with your *******.
I shall play them with my tongue.
And my hands shall explore your wonderland.
Deep within the forest,
Deep within the cave.
I shall touch them lightly
With my fingers touching it slightly.
Your goosebumps shall not stop me.
Not even your moans,
Not even your scratches,
Not even your shaking knees.

I want to paint ******.
Its figure and form.
Its meaning and ways.
I'll start with dipping my brush
Into your bucket
With the wet hues of scented pink.
And let me borrow your skin
To be my canvas.
I'll lighten my fingers
Just to slightly touch the surface
Of your sumptuous curves
And take a stroke to your mouth.
Then I'll never stop dipping.
Not until all colors are painted
To your soul.

I, an unskilled poet who seems not to understand poetry,
Write words of love and praise
Of your ageless beauty.

I am no Shakespeare nor Beethoven.
My verses are child's play compared to his sonnets.
So as the melody I make ---
A shame in his presence.

But how could I seize myself to write
If your eyes stare at mine;
As I see your soul drift
to the river of boundless stars?

I'll let my mind see and my hand talk.
I will not wilt as legends will not be forgotten.
I, an unskilled poet of an ordinary presence,
Continue to write words of love and praise of your timeless existence.

Kisses under the moonlight.
Oh they taste even sweeter
As my lips touches yours.
How often do I dream of this moment?
My dear, it's always.
Pour me another glass of your delight---
The delightful warmth of your arms.
They envelop me with such tenderness
Under the cloudy, starless evening sky.
I hear your heartbeat drums
A song a nightingale sings at night.
A fine melody it brings my ears can't hear
But my heart can feel.

Like I am a summer sea
That stretches thru the ocean
And touches the fine sands.

I can be cold in the mid-summer sun
Or can be warm in the mid-summer night.

The summer sea I am
That can bathe you much
With you soaking less.

Are you busy eating and you don't have time to drink?
Are you busy driving and you don't have time to gas up?
Are you busy talking and you don't have time to breathe?
Time is actually not a scarce resource.
If you don't have time, then make time.

Do you feel it?
Do you feel me?
Do you love it?
Tell me.
Tell me how much you like it.
I love you.
And I wanna do this to you.
I want us to this everyday.
Hmmm.

Life is a multiple of happiness and pain
And is divisible by dreams;
The integral of experiences,
And the absolute value of love.
It is the factorial of norms,
And expansion of lies;
The negative reciprocal of death
And the union of real and imaginary
------complex.

It is okay to feel pain sometimes.
It is okay to even cry sometimes.
For pain needs to be felt
And tears need to flow.

It is okay to hate the world sometimes.
It is okay to even rest sometimes.
For the world is full of lies
And lies are part of life.

Problem is universal.
It is inevitable.
It's a test for suicidals.
But not for strong people.

It is okay to think sometimes.
It is okay to be weak sometimes.
For in thinking you find answers
And for being weak you find strength.

Problem is universal.
It is not only you.
Let it not ruin your potential.
Let it not drive you.

Red.
I was nothing, you said.
Orange.
I like you, it's strange.
Yellow.
And we let it grow.
Green.
We love what we've seen.
Blue.
I know it was true.
Indigo.
But I let it go.
Violet.
'cause it was wrong, I bet.
Rainbow.
It is love we borrow.

Inside the summer tent we built
Were two souls with nothing but towels
Served as sheets to escape
Not only the coldness of the wind
But also the warmth of each other.
We laid ourselves with no boundaries
With me covering my lower half
And you covering more.
I exposed myself more and you less.
But you were beautiful nevertheless.

I walk along the coast
As mid-summer sun roasts
My skin to golden brown
With my sheets burning down.
My footprints on the sand
Are washed away by the ocean
Visiting the land thru trough and crest
Together with the treasured chests.
Waves are coming back and forth
From south, east, west, and north.
From all directions my footprints are gone
Until with walking, I'm finally done.
I could have made a sand castle.
It could have made a good battle
Against the summer waves that flush
My little footprints in a rush.

I love taking pictures of you taking pictures of me.
I love it when the flash shows your sweet serenity.
These shots never lie how we see each other.
I love us taking pictures of us together.

We extend the line wherever it takes us.
It takes us to the paradise you never imagined.
So am I.
Laughs, hugs, kisses.
Everything is a bit imaginary but real.
Yes, complex.
I expect this would end.
But I never imagined it too soon.
I guess the line takes us to the end.
Our line is not perpendicular any more, not right.
We are absolutely parallel yet we intersect.
I guess the plane is not that vast.
We have connected our dots.
But now, the segment ends.
I just never imagine this too soon.
I hate this part right here.
But you wish too.

I, the king, have conquered many kingdoms.
I’ve won the hearts of my friends,
Countrymen, my queen.
I declare myself a victor of everything.
Yet, not a victor of everyone.

A war has come.
She’s brave, wonderful, and exquisite.
Swords clash as spears wage day and night.
I planned my attacks but to no avail.
I’m trapped by my own knives and nets.

An unexpected arrow has pierced through my heart.
I do not bleed, I do not die.
For my armor is built with conviction and confusion.
But soon, for sure, I’ll feel pain for it is inevitable.

I’m fighting a losing battle.
A war not to determine who is stronger, braver
But a war of decisions and sacrifices.
I, the king, have conquered many kingdoms
But I’ve never conquered her heart.