I sense the raging fury of a storm  
That's unfolding as dark clouds gather;  
Hold me close,  and talk to me of love,    
Or sing me a song, if you'd rather  

Just as the bee hums his serenade
To the rose that waits in solitude,
Hover over me, and sing your song,
Talk to me of love ..... I'm in the mood  

Talk to me of love, have you not seen
Angels straining when you whisper low?
Though divine, they cannot comprehend
How my roses blossom in the snow

Through torrential rains my sun still shines,
Rainbows stretch across my midnight sky;
Love's gifts dismiss time and circumstance,
Baffled Angels don't know how or why

How can words of love possess such power?
If true love is what the heart dictates,
Then the words that flow are absolute --
Just watch as they trample Heaven's gates

And together, boldly we enter
To join the blest throngs that dwell above;
It is on such nights that I rejoice --
When you whisper your sweet words of love!

Wait no longer, talk to me of love,
Profound feelings come to torture me:
Abandonment, loneliness, then tears --
A foreboding of calamity

And here it is ......  the warble of a bird --
Now my eyes perceive the dawn's first beam;
I don't want to hear what's coming next .....
"Wake up, Lora, this was but a dream!"

My pen hovers over a blank page
As red ink drips from my wounded heart;
The pain has been stirred by some senseless word,
Now my loneliness awakes with a start

Why are all my words penned in red ink?
The heart must deliver its lament!
Sad words find release, bringing a strange peace
When too long the heartaches of love are pent

And why do my verses taste of salt ---
Not of the sea and its gypsy waves
That come and go, free of all care and woe,
But from tears shed for the love my heart craves

How much must a heart invest in love
Before it receives a dividend?
To reach its goal, it pays a hefty toll,
And yet, the journey seems to have no end

So where lies the blessed love I seek?
Have I left some leaf or stone unturned?
Might there be a flower in my sunset hour
Yet to blossom, for which my heart has yearned?

Lord, take pity on my foolish dreams!
Shine your torchlight on my dark despair;
And when I implore, storming Heaven's door,
Turn the key and permit me entry there

Her poems paint a self-portrait
Of a face she hides from the world;
Secrets well-guarded, slowly revealed,
Each line a new chapter unfurled

Every word that drips from her pen
Is likened to paint on the knife;
From sunlit paths that lead to dark caves,
She paints the story of her life

Stroke after stroke the words are placed
Upon the warped canvas of time;
The torment that each lonely day brings
Urges her to dress it in rhyme

Are lonely days not punishment
Enough for this painter of verse?
Yet, night only grants her fitful sleep
As her woes refuse to disperse

O, painter of a thousand words,
Your cruel fate has taken its toll,
Leaving you to walk this Earth alone
With weary heart and sick of soul

With open eyes she lays dreaming
Of the day love will grace each dawn;
Little does she know her fate is sealed:
Long ago her portrait was drawn

The truth is I have no idea how to begin this
because I don’t even remember
how or when exactly you began to invade my consciousness.
you were an uninvited guest, a gatecrasher, an intruder
filling my mind with paranoia and endless dilemma —
how I contemplate about going out or not
because I get overwhelmed with crowded places
like public transports, and malls, and fast food chains,
how I s-stutter whenever placing an order,
or how I could not finish one sentence without repeating
repeating a word or or two.

It might sound funny how I find a sea of people terrifying,
how I feel a dagger or a gun pointed at me every time I step
outside my comfort zone,
how I would replay failed scenarios inside my head like a broken tape,
how I would apologize for actions that demanded no apology.
I often get nightmares about being asleep and not being able to wake up
and sometimes I dream about waking up in a strange bed in a foreign room
filled with people with the strangest faces talking in tones barely audible
but when the voices would all stir together
I would run out of air and pass out,
but I still wake up though, screaming, trembling
signaling another episode of survival.

If I could drive, I would take you away with me and bring you to a sunset beach
tell you that everything’s gonna be alright
that it’s okay to knock me down sometimes
but not too hard to break me
just enough to remind me that I am, after all, human
Or maybe I would drown you or maybe not
because I get too overwhelmed with the waves
I struggle against the current,
and I am the one who gets drowned instead.

I hate you, no, I mean I love you. I should love you
because they said those we love are meant to leave
So I will love you, I will love you until you get tired of me,
until you no longer find me appealing
I will love you obsessively, until you get sick of me,
until you run out of places to run to, until you run out of air
I will love you until I run out of words and metaphors
and rhyme or reason,
I will love you with the hopes that one day I could finally say:
“My anxieties have died beautifully, with dignity,
in their sleep.”