Set me free of this curse!
Let me cry
Let me cry
Set me free of my torment!
Let me cry
Let me cry
Tears do not leave the eye;
I really wish I would die.

What is this twisted dream?
Why can I not scream?
I cannot feel grief or pain,
Not happiness nor dismay,
I can no longer smile,
And despite how much I try,
I really cannot cry.

I've grown so tired now,
To this tragedy, I must bow,
My hairs are turning grey
Oh to hell with all this fray!
Just let me wither and die,
What's the point when I cannot cry?
Tears do not leave the eye...

Adieu, adieu,
I bid thee adieu,
My heart taketh wing and fly.

Adieu, adieu,
I bid thee adieu
Though it pains me to say goodbye.

The time is past
When happiness we found,
All's left for now is the cry.

So adieu, my love,
Adieu, Adieu,
May we meet again by and by.

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.

Life is a game, a grandscale game with never ending experiences, feelings and thoughts to be had. Within this great game we play many other games, a major category of this, being social games.
One, somewhat flawed, rule which we have made up for this social game is that one really doesn't know or doesn't feel something unless they can describe it with words whereas that's not the case!

You can describe something but you cannot tell me it's hows or what it truly is, let me give you an example:
I tell my friends that I am in love with a girl, raptorously, and they ask me to "prove it" or tell them how I'm "in love with her" and, if I'm a good poet, I would say: "I love her as the fish in the pond loves the moon's reflection, I love her as the birds love to sing in the mornings, I love her as the toe loves hitting the side of something at 3 in the morning, I love her rapturously, with all my being and all my heart." and then they would say wow and say that yes I really do love the girl.

However not everyone is a poet and mere words cannot express how and what we feel because as much as I try to express my love to the world through words and utterances it will always fail to send out what I truly feel at heart. You cannot tell me how you beat your heart, how you formulate your thoughts or how you digest your food, you just 𝑑𝑜 it.

To try to explain somethings to some people would be like trying to drink the ocean with a fork: ardous, boring and neverending. You can always try to, but you would get tired in the first 30 seconds and they, too, would leave.

I have stumbled and fell,
More incidents than you could tell.
Within this journey of my life,
I have felt and I have seen,
The strangest things there've been.
There are many things that I've done,
Many roads, down which I've gone,
So I know most
          ins and outs
Of how to deal
               with all the doubts
With all the pain
With all cold walks in the rain
With all the heartbreaks
With all the trust that loving takes
With the weeps of my mother
And the anger my father
And the worry of my brother
And the fools that act a clown
And the times that I'm pushed down
And every single look they give
When none of them try to live,
The life that is the life of me
For it's not so easy to be,
Sympathetic.

All of this has made me age,
I hope that it's the final page,
This book of life,
With all its strife,
With all its pain,
And all its love,
Has made me age.

Please reader, hear my plea
and let go of my poems and me,
I can no longer play the lyre
For my situations' oh so dire,
These are matters of the mind,
The like of which, I must say,
I've seen nothing of the kind.
So heed my words and leave today,
For this old jester's pen has dried,
His tears have gone unseen,
And in his heart he has demeaned
Each and every word he's tried
To write with a once ardent heart,
From all of which he must depart.

It's been a while since I wrote of you
To be honest I've had a lot to do
I carry this weight on my shoulder
a weight that's heavier than any boulder.

Yes it is hard to carry on
and I know it is no fun
but do I really have a choice?
when nobody can hear my voice

I have no option but to smile
even when everything's quite vile
They do not see all these pointless tries
They do not read the pain in my eyes

So I am alone once more
On this cold and misty shore
Next to the sea
amidst the trees
Beneath the moon
I look at you
I look at you
I look at you

I stole a piece of gold my love,
And stored it safe in ores,
I stole the dawn that glows above,
To paint the stars of lore.

Beneath the ore; the starry night,
We lay there quiet and sore,
Treasure that was so bright at sight,
Remains dispersed ashore.

Regrets like pieces may align,
In puzzling boards of fate,
Your hands will scramble all of mine -
For that - a day shall wait.

every shout  a drop of blood
squirting from the twisted veins
the destiny’s road opens
to another quite unknown corner

every shout stifled by heartbeat
of silence holds a desire to cut
the uneaten loaf of heart

their ears are deaf
a head of stone
a body of wood
fingers of clay that
have forgotten how to clasp a flower
or rise a hand in protest

music that has become air
settles down at the navel of midnight
it’s an angel singing
under the leihao tree to sleeping hours
to closed windows and doors
only the leaves and grasses of
the earth responds

with daybreak the lips, the nose
the hands, the limbs, the eyes
awakened
the air lost its music
the angel is only a love disowned
by both the lover and the beloved

This is a poem.

The night is cloudy and the stars don't shine,
The raindrops on the window are illuminated by the cold street light.
Perhaps I would be able to hear the roaring wind
but it is silenced by the tick tock of the clock on the wall.

Maybe, maybe I will write again,
Maybe, maybe I will learn to play a happy tune,
One day I'll forget elegies
And stop making these melacholy effigies

I don't really like rhyming now,
They sound too happy and are sometimes cheap.
I rather write to my poems and say, "Thou
art my biggest mystery, you're too shallow. You're too deep."

So in conclusion,
I don't know why I'm writing.
All I know in this confusion
Is that the night is cloudy and the stars don't shine,
The raindrops on the window are illuminated by the cold street light.

The clock is ticking. Tick. Tock.
The people are hollow,
The people are stuffed
leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw.

I wish to write a poem out of tears.
I wish to write a poem out of laughter.
I wish to write a poem out of sorrow and rejection.
I wish to write a poem out of the good times no longer here.
I wish to write words out of the misery, out of the agony that millions of children live through everyday.
Whether they're missing, abused, kidnapped, sold, ran away, beaten every day, carved in their leaders words.
I wish to write poems made out of stars.
Faintly watching us slowly turn to them every night.
I wish to write a poem that every human, every creature, every animal, every creature can understand.
I wish to write poems with no words.
As the most profound words say the least.
I wish to write a poem made of blood, tears, sweat, skin, hair, teeth.
I wish to write a poem made of broken trees, torn apart to make buildings bigger.
I wish to write a poem out of the soul of those who are now extinct.
I wish to write a poem that can touch a person's heart.
Sadly without these miseries.
How are we ever to know what happiness really is?

Art is a statement about life's truths.

Masked and Chained under every face, every body, lies dormant the human psyche - a sea so vast, a space so immense that none can come to fathom it whole.

Stars above, moon so bright
Will you heed my song tonight?
Lyrics of joy, verses of pain
Melodies of loneliness run through my veins
I cry at the heavens
Like the wolves and their brethren
Hoping to catch a soul who might listen
The chords so joyful tell a sweet tale
One that can be heard on a passing gale
We can dance together
Like long lost lovers
Ready to see what the darkness uncovers
Until the sun rises
And again you shall rest
We'll travel the night
On the light we know best

I'm feeling a confusion
Or maybe it's just delusion,
Does she still like me?
I'm probably as annoying as a bee.
I feel like I'm a burden,
Hiding all my feelings behind a curtain
Of doubt, uncertainty and hesitation,
It feels nothing short of damnation.

I don't even know why I'm trying to rhyme
All of these thoughts and I'm running out of time
It's time to halt this cursed rhyme
And talk with you from my heart

I'm feeling so hollow and wishing there was no tomorrow, all I feel is apathy and it's pure agony, I can't even write any more because all my feelings are gone, what is a sea without water? What is spring without a flower? What is summer without its schoring sun?
What is a writer without his ink?
What is a poet without feelings?

A little peace
within the last hours of the almost bygone day
a little silence
between the days
so that the nascent yesterday does not get in the past
and tomorrow is lived for today

The wind roars
The sky is patched with clouds
The leaves swirl in the wind's embrace

Autumn will come,
Autumn and his cold breath,
Autumn and his grey skies,
With his wilted flowers,
And his lifeless trees,
Autumn will come.
Autumn and his empty streets
He'll come with frozen dew on the grass,
He'll come with sundowns at 4 in the afternoon,
He'll slap your sleep ridden face with the morning wind,
Autumn will come.
Autumn will come with the evening rain,
Autumn will come with love-sick pain,
Autumn will rest on the heavy clouds,
Autumn will howl at your window at 6 a.m.
Autumn will come with the look of tired souls,
With the sound of heavy hearts,
With taste of the evening tea,
With the smell of bittersweet melancholy.

Stars laid out before me on this ever haunting eve,
seem to laugh in all their glory, while I can only grieve.
For myself and for others, and all with our disease,
our silence is solace for the ones we'll soon bereave.

I've laid my last brick and the wall's standing proudly,
a monument to the filth which always surrounds me.
It is me.

And I'm feeling kind of good again,
knowing the bricks keep all safe from my sin,
that with time no one will remain,
bringing a day with the ending of pain.

Sometimes I struggle to peak over my wall,
jumping and screaming to no one at all,
wondering if anyone is out there still waiting,
and knowing they aren't is sometimes frustrating.

Of course there is no one left anymore,
and saddened as I am, that's what walls are for.
I did this with purpose and now I can bleed,
with no one to be hurt by my dying deed.

Sorrow has settled in between your beautiful eyes,
The night's nested in your black hair,
And your glassy eyes shine like blue stars.

Be with me,
Be with me for when we are together the wind carries away my loneliness,
The moon smiles,
The sun shines,
The leaves swirl in the wind,
The birds sing,
The flowers bloom,
The soil smells of morning rain,
Be with me.

Spring fluttered out of my hands and disappeared,
In my room, I burn from loneliness,
Within my heart, an ice flower has sprouted.

"But Lensky, not, of course, intending
To wear the ties of marriage yet,
Looked forward warmly to befriending
Onegin, whom he'd newly met.
Not ice and flame, not stone and water,
Not verse and prose are from eachother
So different as these men were.
At first, since so dissimilar,
They found eachother dull, ill-suited;
Then got to like eachother, then
Could possibly not be separated.
Thus (I'm the first one to confess)
People are friends from idleness."

Pallid green,
maybe ashen gray,
a paler look
than yesterday.

The corners of your mouth
are now turned downward,
and your eyes are looking
somewhat the same.

What I was hoping for was not for this,
and now my hope wanes reminisce
as I remember your vibrant color,
and my love for you - as no other.

Lord, why do I see hues of such unskilled painter,
as the canvas is brushed with this fleeting death?
Everything is so smeared and smudged together,
as my heart is sliced by such a clumsy spatula.

But as her life-force is now, and O so slowly, dissipating,
no grasp or hold of mine can keep us here together.
So as my love's last breath releases into the air we breathed,
everything we ever had on earth is fading - and disappearing.

To spartan prose the years are turning,
Coquettish rhyme the years are spurning;
And I - I with a sigh confess -
I'm running after her much less,
My pen has lost its former pleasures
Of daubing fleeting leaves, it seems,
Today, quite different, chilling dreams;
Quite different unrelenting pressures,
In stillness or in social noise,
Disturb the sleep my soul enjoys.

Where whispers hollow and hollow's whisper
Running water and time go swifter
A flawless work with flawless rhyme
Can't rush the sunrise, take your time

Follow the fate that you chose
Watch closely now, count the crows
Though our heroes are running short
Enter into our murderous court

Come, hold my hand and let us dance,
Let us dance our youth away,
Let us dance this grey day,
Let us dance to the music of your laughs,
Let us feel alive again,
Let us dance beneath the moon,
Beneath the stars,
Upon the dune,
Let us love,
Let us dance...

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life
and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn't live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists to live a life
not half a life

Do you remember when we first met?
The first time I annoyed you?
The first thought you had when you saw me?
Do you remember how it all changed?
How we used to stay up all night and talk?
or the way we used to shout each other's names at school?
Do you remember me?
Do you remember the colour of my hair?
The sound of my voice?
The colour of my sad eyes?
Do you remember the feel of my hand?
The notes that I left in the books I gave you?
Remember when I beat our teachers in chess, in front of you?
Remember all the things I told you?
Every word, every advice, every confession?

You probably don't.
But I remember everything about you,
as if all of it happened yesterday...

Some where in Paris
Empty cobbled street
You look at the river beside the street
There sits a bench under the moonlight
You walk towards it
The street is empty,
The night sky is immense
Even more immense with the blue stars
Flickering in the distance.
Sitting on the wooden bench
Facing the free flowing waters,
Under the vast night sky
You sit alone with the moon
Next to the flowing river
And wish that this feeling would last
Forever...

It is Dusk and my time has come.
The sky takes a pinkish hue,
The cool breeze begins its departure,
And the trees wave it goodbye.

Dusk has come, My time has come.
With it, it brings the black blanket,
That covers the immense sky,
The sun leaves with tears,
And the moon replaces her,
The stars begin to appear,
And I think of her with me; here.

Dusk has come, My time is now.
The flowers begin to close,
And the clouds cover the sky,
The seas begin to reflect her,
The lonely breeze sings of her,
The crickets cry her name.

Yes, Dusk is now!
Sadness is now
Despair is now
Woe is now
Sorrow is now...

My Dusk has come,
And my soul wants to break out,
And disappear into the night,
Into the dark clouds above,
To run into the rain,
Out of the forests of my pain.

Dusk has come...

You used to be my pink skies and cotton candy clouds but now everything is grey, rainy and miserable.

And it makes me want to cry.

We're going in a different direction now and I am not the one who pulled the steering wheel.

I no longer see my open fields flooded far and wide with cherry blossoms and all the green sparrows have flown away.

They are crying now and I can no longer hear your voice.

Instead, it is all a barren wasteland. And the sand is not even at least the beautiful orange the Sahara desert always is.

All the portraits in my castle have gone blank. The castle itself, war torn, brought down to rubble as a result of the battle I fought within myself.

I may have lost the battle but I have not yet lost the war. I hope.

Unfortunately, our worlds did not collide as subtly as I had prayed. It was a violent mishap, an event outside of time.

I sit silently and alone in the centre of my dreams as I have witnessed them being violently washed away by ocean waves with my hands tied and bound by my admiration for you.

You like beaches right? That has to mean something, maybe a reason for you to stay a little longer.

You are my Dystopia.

But dystopia is subject to interpretation.

And what is yours will never be mine and what is mine you do not even want at all.

My dystopia sounds like it belongs in a book, but we all know how long that lasts.

Burn the books!
Cover them in kerosene!
Destroy the present and all that's been!
No more ideas should exist
If someone objects; cut their wrists

The word is our's
Reality is made by us
No more books allowed
They cause a lot of fuss!

Ignorance is bliss
Books bring back hate
Knowledge is nothing
But misery's bait.

Your thoughts are our's,
Your mind's not yours,
We have an eye in all the doors,
So why hide in despair,
Just give us your books,

We will bring you happiness,
We'll help you love this place,
If you refuse however,
Your ashes will fly in space.

Farewell now, peaceful dales, farewell to
Familliar hilltops that I call to
Farwell, familliar wood nearby,
Farwell, the beauty of the sky,
Farewell, glad nature that I cherish;
I am exchanging my dear peace
For noisey, glittering vanities...
Farewell my freedom that must persih!
Whither and wherefore do I strive?
What can I hope for in this life?

paraiba skies bring perfect sunsets
sapphires from rocks in lapidary hands
turquoise glow in the ocean shimmer
even a tattered bluejay feather is beautiful
I smile for my heart feels blue

There you are
An old familiar friend
You were there at the start
And you’ll be there at the end

You had been away for a while
But I didn’t miss you
It’s a strange notion
Feeling blue

You’ve made me numb
To my brittle bones
You’ve made me feel
Not at home

A familiarity that’s jarred
A perspective that's scarred
A knot so tight its shakes my hands
And then
Departs

As swift as we were together
We are now apart
My stomach that felt full
Now feels starved

I was never good at goodbyes
For us, a near impossible task
There’s an empty space
That you had carved

We had been one for so long
So now I ask
Do I miss you?

It’s a strange notion
Feeling blue

Fires come and fires go,
Some from heaven, some below,
Wreaking havoc as they burn,
Or saving souls from depths forlorn.
Instrument of god of choice,
To whom you’ve wed for better or worse.
Eternal dimension as a course,
Gnash with wailing or rejoice.
A pawn of action in his hand,
To scorch or cleanse the forest land.
Measure of trial from the one,
Whose heart he owns as daughter or son,
Who are burned up or consumed,
A willful, waiting, choice of two.
Flames from heaven or below,
Preference of the lord you know,
To fill his purpose and design,
One is devilish and One Divine.