Ayy it's 2017
A year so changing; a year so keen.
Though some might not see what it means,
2017 set a scene.

Ayy it'll be 2018
Will it be grand? Will it be keen?
What, to some people, does this mean?
Can it ever set a scene?

I'm a book,
written in a foreign language;
one nobody can understand.

Try to comprehend;
you'll be met with confusion,
as you can't decipher what doesn't make sense.

Don't let a book lead your life,
Don't let a book help you out,
Don't let a book teach you something.

Just read the book,
see what you know,
and return it.
Immediately.

I made a cocktail.
It's 40% tears,
30% despair,
20% regret,
and 9% doubt.
There's a hint of hope somewhere in there also.

And I'm getting drunk tonight.

Your love is a fire
which burns higher and higher.
Started from some caring hands,
it burns throughout our forested land.
It's burned the country mile by mile,
and it won't stop burning for a while.

Alluring gaze;
Far away, yet ever so near.
Washes doubt and illuminates space;
Cleans all thoughts of hate and fear.
With it's thick white glow in such a beautiful place.

Midnight wonder;
As time ticks on, it stands there.
Bright and bold does it shine!
Does it know love? Does it know care?
With it's loving pose, ever so divine.

Transitioning power;
When the day is done, no more will it hark.
During the day, life is filled with rage.
However, one again will it rise in the dark.
With it's welcoming of the future's page.

Be it life, a flourishing field,
amidst the cold of time and space.
Be it death, a depressing deal
but a normal passing of our race.
Be it all which to it decides to yield;
Oh moon, bless us with your grace!

In a world with less fortune,
Where challenges surpass the highest mountains,
Where hope fades into heavenly obscurity
We still work tirelessly and find a way.

In a world with wealth and peace,
Where potential surpasses the highest mountains,
Where sorrow fades into the tales of history,
We try our best to seize the day.

In a world, indifferent from our own,
Where philosophy surpasses the highest mountains,
Where issues remain in a limbo-like trance,
We enjoy our lives, everyday.

I'm a map,
I can tell you where to go,
I can guide you through life,
I can aid your journeys.

You can use me to help you.
You can use me to care for you.
You can use me.
For I am merely an object,
that has no sense of feeling.

I have no feeling for pain,
so you can throw me around.
Batter me.
Taunt me.
You can crumple me up to throw me out,
and replace me with a new map.
One that's more up-to-date and stylish.
It doesn't matter,
I can't feel,
so I surely can't be impacted.
At. All.

I'm a map,
Use me right and never get lost,
use me wrong and ruin a good map.

An apple fell from a tree.
Did it want to fall from that tree?
Where it was so secure and cozy,
only to hit the ground of reality.

It will never come back to that tree,
it's stems have been cut off.
It'll fend for itself,
but that's hard for an apple to do.

Drenched skin.
Walking aimlessly,
through the rain of life.

Released umbrellas.
Covering firmly,
the change of society.

Chilled breeze.
Blowing freely,
no higher power to judge it.

Calmed day.
Passing beautifully,
no stressful obstacles inbound.

Castigate!
Fill with hate!
Expose their views
at any rate!

Interrogate!
Segregate!
Expose their lives
at any rate!

Disintegrate!
Celebrate!
Expose your own life
at any rate!

So, I sing the song,
The jubilant song,
The one I sang with you by my side
So long ago.

I lay in the place,
behind the warm oak trees,
The place I lay when you were by my side
So long ago.

I listen to nature,
the calm, surreal nature,
The nature that existed when you were by my side
So long ago.

Life has moved on from us,
You have moved on from me,

Have I moved on?

Oldspeak:
Save me from this government,
which envelops the land.
Which doesn't give me freedom,
or help my weary hand.

Newspeak:
I'm saved in Oceania,
which is doublegood; much nonwasted land.
BB unstruggles workers,
BB helps unwear hands.

Blanks.
Wasted parts of space.
Lost in thought and in uses;
a blank canvas without any muses.

I used to have an obsession with candles.
Their soft yellow glow shimmering in the air,
Their heat melting the surrounding wax,
Their wicks, a lengthy fuse waiting to be terminated;
Their glow shining upon the surrounding area.

They comforted me, like a distressed mother
Holding tight to her kin during a hostile tempest.

They flicker so,
In the still air moving to and fro.

When on those nights so cold,
who was there to comfort me but my own bed?
It may seem odd to some,
but for me my bed has always come.

I wrap myself up in it's blankets,
form a cocoon of everlasting peace.
Where pressure nor stress can haunt,
and where no man can taunt.

I talk to myself.
Some might think I'm crazy for doing so.
But what's so crazy about it?
It's pretty normal for me.

My bed has become my home.
I live within it's walls.
Sometimes I become too comfortable,
and bathe too long in it's enveloping walls.

I sometimes find myself in extreme situations,
"This must be due to my bed!" I exclaim,
"It's persuaded me too far this time."
Of course, by the next day,
or even the next hour,
I find myself in those places again.
Perhaps I am to blame.

However, once I've realize where I was,
I instantly recollect my thoughts.
Regret what I was about to do,
and hoped instantly for a new.
And, for a while,
every thing seems to make me smile.
The walls of my bed have faded away,
and I am left in a state of allay.

But that time must come to an end.
According to my bed, it will only begin again.
My bed then reminds me of everything.
Every red line on the skin.
Every rope from the tree.
Every bridge dived from.
Every falsely committed sin.
It reminds me that these exist,
and I will remember for as long as it insists.

A world made by deceit;
Tricksters running wild and free,
Virtue, a fleeting thought.

Cup of solid gold,
Probably makes things taste foul,
But it still looks great.

When on that morning so long ago,
Our hearts touched; I should've known,
that this relationship would soon leave us both alone,
and I would be the one to end it.

You act odd; lack basic care,
to many of my jokes you simply stare,
maybe you would be best off over there,
with another man.

You put on a smile; fake a face,
so that you can try to eliminate our space,
but the gap gets wider, and even more wide!
And now I can't see you on the other side.

Take your ugly dresses; I'll take my love,
and transport it somewhere far above.
I'll give it to someone who wants me there,
but our own relationship is done, I declare!

A poet,
hopeful; on course.
Writing not for interest,
but due to force.

A writer,
worried somewhere near.
Writing not for interest,
but due to fear.

Eggs on bread, eggs on rye.
Eggs in the sky, by and by.
My love for eggs will never die
since eggs will never tell a lie.

Eggs on toast, on a roast.
Eggs are always valued the most.
My love for eggs is something I'll boast,
from east to west, and coast to coast.

Eggs are hard, they never crack.
Unless hit with the force of a resounding smack.
I will be there to protect, and to hold back.
And for the egg's safety I will attack.

Eggs with butter, eggs with beans.
What do you think this all means?
You are an egg; a fine cuisine.
And my love for you will forever be serene.

I always have these fantasies,
where I am with my crush.
We're both lying on the bed,
and cuddling.
Hugging and calming eachother.
I think it's lovely.
Do they think the same?

Fear.
We all feel it, but we all don't want to.

Do you think Satan has fears?
Does God?
What is there that can scare God?
And if there proves to be something that fears God,
what's the chance that I too don't fear it?

Some say they don't have any fears,
that any sense of terror doesn't harm them.
I laugh at these people.
The only time they can't feel fear is that one time,
that one special time,
they're laying,
cold,
dead,
alone,
six feet in the ground.
A simple figment of history.
Their lack of worries won't matter.
It won't.
It doesn't even matter now.

We all fear death;
Some more than others.

The pain.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
I've tried every drug,
but the pain doesn't dissipate.

It's been so long
since my mind has been sound.
Since my body had been free;
Free from this defeating pain,
Free from the issues of life,
Free.

It's a bird,
knocking on my window.
Every. Day.
It never goes away,
It'll surely knock tomorrow also.
I need it gone.

There are manacles;
Shackles on my soul.
I would do anything to find the key
and set myself free.
They might never go away;
The chains will constrain me tomorrow.
I need them gone.

The pain.
It hurts.
Like a bird pecking constantly,
Like restraints tying me down,
I've tried it all,
but the pain doesn't dissipate.

Glasses;
so big!
With curves and crevices,
and area so majestic
like a continent never explored.

Glasses;
so revolutionary!
With voice and passion,
and struggles so deep
like a country in depression.

Glasses;
so new!
With a new page arriving,
and vision to again be clear
like a scope through the old horror.

These letters
placed onto this keyboard
are able to make art so beautiful
and novels so imaginative!
And this metal piece with keys on top,
can also make
h

Heart pounding.
Knife in my hand.
"God, please take me
to another land."

Mind racing.
My body demands
to drop that thing
within my hands.

Feet tapping.
Urges overcome.
I can't forget
what I've just done.

Tears welling.
In my lover's eyes.
You made me do this,
now why do you cry?

In unkempt sorrow, we often lie
with no hope ahead, we plan to die
as fear grows in strength, we suffer too
for we know not what we should do.

Hope may die in a sea of black,
but doubting its existence allows for attack,
cling to faith to fend this foe,
or else depression will be allowed to sough.

For as long as the sun may shine,
everything can change when given time.
Look to the future, and keep ambitions high
for there's no reason not to try.

How do you write a poem?
I'll tell you how.

Place your fingers on the keyboard,
one by one.
Push down and form phrases,
and wham! you're done.

Hit enter a couple times,
to space it right.
Indent here and there,
and view the sight.

If you prefer the traditional way,
that's nice.
Write with a pencil and a paper,
maybe use pen for some spice.

Write a tale or an engaging work.
Write to your heart and your mind's voice!
Write a world full of mystery, suspense or fun.
You're the writer, and it's your own choice!

When on that night so cold,
and at a midnight so serene.
Why did you take your life
why, my dear Irene?

You have always been my beloved,
you were always happy, it seemed.
Why did you take your life out of this strife,
why, my dear Irene?

Why must you leave me so,
in this depressed world so old.
Whether you're now in heaven or even in hell,
I pray that you feel better wherever you may dwell.

You are buried here, on his hill
I visit here now and then.
While you're body lays here ever so still
I wonder where I should've been.

I should've been beside you,
always respecting and being true.
Caring and welcoming your beautiful mien,
I should've loved you more, my dear Irene.

Ivy.
It grows everywhere.
It can be poisonous,
or harmless.
Either way,
it's ivy.

I want to be like ivy.
A part of nature,
never to die.
But what use is nature,
when it sits and lies?
When it has no purpose,
other than to survive.
Isn't that the same as humanity?

Ivy is like humanity.
It grows around whatever it latches onto.
It adapts to it's environment.
It can be used,
and even admired.
It can also be hated,
and even decimated.

Life.
From the sky to every tree,
it encompasses you and me.
It has no end, not for us
but it has an end to those unjust.
Ever so forgiving, yet so bittersweet.
A moral chance to prove a worth.

The cruel,
in their minds they're perfect people.
People who have done no wrong,
and deserve no hate.
We all make mistakes.

Mishaps,
They determine an unknown future;
an accident extended in cause.
Never to happen, always to come,
mistakes to life are 1-1.

Broken.
A window to an unknown sight.
The future to a reader's delight.
Every past problem you've ever felt,
inside a basket of the damage you've dealt.
Damage to others,
damage to me.
Damaging the Earth,
and humanity.

Sorrow.
Regret for the past of a person,
what's the use in feeling it?
You can't forgive every problem,
but you can't forget any trifle.

Depression.
The pressure of a person's feelings.
Raveled up in a box to ship and go.
The constant belittlement of a man,
to overtake him at demand.

Urging thoughts,
from the cruel.
Thoughts of life,
broken and shattered.
Destroyed by a mishap ever so large,
that only others can feel sorrow for the loss.

Lose me to the wind,
as your lights go dimmed.
Lose me to the soil,
as your life becomes toil.
Lose me to the sea,
as you post your decree.
Lose me to the sky,
as you say goodbye.
Lose me to the time,
as you hate your crimes.

I'm lost.

I know a bit about math.
You add one to another and get two
divide two and get two separate ones.
Do you think that 1 wanted to be divided?
What if it was happy under the aid of the other one?
What if they were meant for each other?

You multiply x by y.
X and y don't go together,
it's by nature.
But it's by choice that they still collide together,
and x and y suddenly seem indifferent.

You divide x by y.
After bonding for so long,
after understanding each of their incompatibility issues
and trying to mend them to better fit,
they're finally divided.
One is now without the other,
the other is without that one,
and they are both separate variables in a cold world.
It's by nature that they remain separate,
but it's by choice that they still remember.

All it took was one mistake
to change my life forever

Hopes hang high, fatigue fails and flickers.
An adventure awaits.
Dawn does disappear; duly, daylight's discovered.

I love my bed.
I can cry on it for hours; days.
It loves me.
It listens.
It understands.

Help.
What a word.
People say I need lots of it,
but I already have it overflowing.
Maybe I need to get larger containers?

Can I trust myself?
My mind is screaming, yelling
for me to do drastic things.
My body quivers before it,
but it isn't ready to concede.

I can't control myself.
I guess that's true.
So I went to ask my bed for advice.
It told me to leave.
Leave everyone who hated me,
and leave everyone who thinks I'm mad.
and at this point, I'm ready to listen to that.

I can stay here,
on this cold Earth.
Tucked away in a corner,
crying a new ocean.
Or I can make a new planet,
far away.
A place I can live on;
A place where I can stay.

Forgetting all my sorrows,
dismissing all my hate.
Permitting all my desires,
to discover my fate.

With a steady hand,
and an easied mind,
I let my pen lead me
to the future I'll find.

I'm an outsider
I don't follow social norms.
But being an outsider has become the norm,
so am I...
normal?

I hate those people,
who ponder every moment in their life.
Injuries don't hurt them when from the knife
People who struggle to break free from strife.

I hate those people,
who search for their own origin.
The meanings of loss, and of win.
People who stray from their kin.

What are we, but figures of skin?
What are we, but souls of sin?
What are we, what have we been?
What story is there behind a grin?

The stories of men are what I seek.
Behind each face, the messages speak.
Of people turned depressed and morally weak,
and of experiences which leave men bleak.

A force desired by many, acquired by some.
A drug so powerful it makes a mind numb.
A lack of it makes a man sore,
A myriad of it makes a man seek more.

Today is yesterday's "tomorrow"

I tried to atone
for what I've done
I tried to regret
but forgiveness has run.

Elevated to entropy,
forced to despise.

What more do you want
in this world of lies?

A voice in the landscape,
summoned by prayer.

Upon disarraying cheeks
a slap flares.

A lazy response,
A crying soul.
Regretting and regretting
as it grows old.

These scars.
They will not heal.
They stand as a memento,
from a time long past.

If I ever meet a new person,
they would observe these marks,
and realize how insane I am.

They will run away from me,
they all do.
They all do.

I can't deal with the scars.
I can't deal with myself.
I can't deal with the future,
just like I couldn't deal with the past.

These wounds will stay,
even if I change,
so what's the use in sticking around,
and being reminded of them?

Where do you see the moonlight in the darkest of days and the worst of nights?
Where do you see the warm sun-rays among the storms and the terrible weather?

Perhaps you are mistaken,
and there never is any light when days are dark,
and there never are any sun-rays in the storm,
and you're conceptions are simply askew.

Are you delusional?
Perhaps I am insane,
for never looking at the moon at night,
during the cloudiest of days.
And I am so, so insane,
for never checking for any sun,
while I struggle to survive the winds of life.

Will I try and search for the moon's light,
in the wild forests and with the pitch-black glow,
and allow myself to get lost?
And will I try and search for the sunlight,
in the plains and amid the harsh hurricane,
and allow myself to get attacked?

The simpler life becomes,
the worse it seems to be.
As things turn to basic,
for both you and me.

Take my hand,
elevate me far away.
Bring me to the place,
where there is no dismay.

Where the birds sing freely,
where the skies never turn grey;
where we can both live happily,
and our souls will never fray.

To everyone who has spurn,
to every hater who has made me learn,
to every despot who in hell will burn,
thank you.

To my desires, which I yearn,
to the men and women who barely earn,
to everyone whose lives have taken a downturn,
thank you.

For persisting in night and day,
for keeping this land free, I have to say,
that life isn't fair, you will sometimes go astray,
but the best thing to do is to work and stay.

I watched the sun rise today.
It welcomed me and made me allay,
but it's not the best sight I've seen anyway,
that title goes to you.

I gazed at the sunset today.
I witnessed the light's dwindling rays,
but it's not the best sight I've seen anyway,
that title goes to you.

I witnessed the late night today.
I noticed the stars; they made me say,
"It's not the best sight I've seen anyway,
that title goes to you."

The sun was bright, and so were you,
The sun came down, and so did you,
Now, the night is as cold as you,
Ever since you went away.

I feel like Christian Bale
in that one movie
"Am I... the American ******?"

the emic and etic personas
collapse in pantomime
like how the Donald destroyed democracy and civil rights for four years.

I feel like the average citizen
who has no choice but to vote
so that I don't get deported once again

The best poem
I've ever read,
was the poem
with words ever so smooth,
and a meaning ever so endless.
I never wanted to let go of that poem;
I wanted to love it even more.
but upon reading the poem over and over again,
this opinion changed.
I wanted to share the poem,
I wanted to see if someone else wanted to read it.
Nobody came.
Nobody wanted to read it.
Not a person.


I ripped the poem to shreds.

The army of time marches ahead
while the nervous cling to the edges of hope;
wishing to be loved and cared for
in a future of worry;

Hands dance from number to number
while the pretentious feign having hope;
wishing to be loved and cared for
in a future of worry;

A billion clocks update with ease
while the tired let go of hope;
wishing to suffer no more for no longer
within the chasms of darkness;

The winds of change blow forever
while the dispirited admit to losing hope;
wishing to suffer no more for no longer
within the chasms of darkness.