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Yue Wang Yitkbel Mar 2019
The weight of thoughts

We hold deep within

Gather and increase in mass

Till we’re beings of immense gravity

Attracted at the moment of first contact

Never letting go

Even through the unseeable distance

I can still feel your pull-

Feel time stretch into infinity

Feel nothing else within my hold-

From our fateful event horizon

Even though we’re both vessels

Of very little voices

We’re far from empty

We’re far from silent-

With every unspoken word-

Not let out to wander and


We bear the roaring wrath

Of neutron stars deep within

Our Soul

And such

Is our ‘Density’
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)

Sunday, January 27, 2019
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2017
I filled your absence with neverending thoughts of you.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2017
I loved you more in your absence
Than I ever did in your presence
I learned to love you in moderation
And not give in to my obsession
And whereas I only felt limited happiness
Never fulfilled, never content
Always craving more and more
I now struggle tirelessly within a dark void of emptiness to hold on to even just a vision of you.
I miss you dearly, and I spent every waking, and slumbering moment thinking of you, in happiness, in sorrow, in regret.
When you were still here, you were my purpose, you were what made life bearable and worth looking forward to.
Now that you are gone, I still remain, not for my longing of this world.
But, because I am afraid one day, if and when the world turns its back on you, there is still a speckle of light wanting to light up your entire world.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Feb 2019
How much poetry live within me

Or am I merely a vessel

That has to be loaded and unloaded

To not waste away under the calm wind

And sink to a weighted depth of silent

And unfulfilled dreams

Yet what is the use

Carrying a soul from an unwritten land

To an unread land

Both dotted with footprints of past voyageurs

But no path or end in sight

Perhaps I am destined to be an unnamed pilgrim

That treads upon and whose marks will be tread upon

The wasteland of hapless ambitions

Transforming it into a garden of everlasting

Love, freedom, and hope


You may find me one day

Though you will not know it

Nor will I

Within a petal of the rose

A dust in the dew

The wings of a honeybee

And if you look closely,

Listen closely

Within the laughing wind

As the gale brings all of us

Across the sea

Carrying vessels after vessels

From dream to dream
Vessels from Dream to Dream
By: Yitkbel
Written: June 25, 2018

This redundant post is in case the previous version is not showing up in the community.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019

Men must slumber in the darkness
In order to be truly awaken
Men must be desperately lost
In order to look up at the endless stars

The young love to sing about death
While the old worship life like the sun
The young are hopeless on earth, dreaming of flight
The old fear to be parted from the land without a raging fight


Who wants to be from War and Peace
The Fly against the loft sky
But we are all just flies
Traceless, each life in a dream it lies
Always to be awakened, bringing nothing and taking nothing
Why must we seek truth in a dream?
If we will forget them when we finally open our eyes
With joy, with sorrow
We witness death
Just so we would strive to stay alive
But why are we alive?
To prepare us for what?


Is it just for that half asleep, half awake
Shadowy, faint, and veiled memory?
Is it possible that when we truly open our eyes one day
We would still feel all that we’ve felt in the dreams?
Yes, in my brief nightly drowsiness, I have felt
Despair and happiness
And existed so profoundly!

Slumber or Awake, Illusion or Truth
Reality or Dream
There never was any true death or an end
I was always
Alive Alive Alive


Life is the only route
Between nothingness and the endless
Our birth on earth, and our perishing to dirt
Are both equal ends for the existing

And fools will simply rejoice in the illusive brevity
While sages prepare for the everlasting dance
And fools will take comfort in the darkness obscuring his sins
While sages prepare for the brilliance of the yonder light  
By already shining and basking in this life


I want to be from War and Peace
The Bee of such trivial and insignificant life
For we are all just bees
Unnoticed, but must exist
Why were we ever born to fly,
When true height is beyond this life?
Just for the pollen and nectar, taken and given?
Till bees return to the impermanent or the forever?
We will regret their absence then, bitterly and barrenly
Witnessing loss, just to learn to cherish
The existing.
But we exist, for what?


Is it just for that half asleep, half awake
Shadowy, faint, and veiled memory?
Is it possible that when we truly open our eyes one day
We would still feel all that we’ve felt in the dreams?
Yes, in my brief nightly drowsiness, I have felt
Despair and happiness
And existed so profoundly!

Slumber or Awake, Illusion or Truth
Reality or Dream
There never was any true death or an end
I was always
Alive Alive Alive


Being alive
Is not just so we can die
That is completely meaningless
Being alive,
Is the only route
From nothingness to endlessness

Only having been once alive
Can you be resurrected
Only when you walk this road to the end
Will you find and continue the pave to the
Neverending Land
Alive (Resurrection)
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
Original in Chinese written on:
Sunday, October 20, 2019, 6:20 PM
Translated on: Wednesday, October 23, 2019
11:43 AM
Notes written: 2019/10/25
This was originally another stream of consciousness written in Chinese in a much more organized lyric form spontaneously. Parts of it were a sort of commentary and reaction to poems, songs, and other works I read from both young and old, where the young tend to write about death with a fearless and almost welcoming embrace, and the old refuses to "go gentle into that goodnight."

The rest of it, I wanted to use two very striking metaphors from Tolstoy's War and Peace, the fly and a bee. I set up them as foils of one another, though both to signify insignificance; one represents the isolation of an individual, while the other is of the obscurity of the mass.

Both questions why are we alive? Why are we here just to leave so immediately? Then, both a revelation and answer came to me suddenly.

The revelation being life is the inevitable road between the nothingness of being, and the endlessness of being.
So the answer is, as this road seems to be the only and continuous road, we must cross it to the end of the section we call life, in order to reach the rest we call the neverending.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2019
Chapter One — In the Woods

For all I know, I could be in a dream right now, no beginnings, no once upon a time, no long long ago; and perhaps no endings, no happily ever after, no the-end, and no non-arbitrary answer to the question. Of course, no one wants to read that, no one wants to be told that all they’ve ever believed in is a lie, what it is in the end, is what it was in the beginning, hopeless.

Everything is trivial, at least at the moment, at least that’s what I feel, well, I am who I am, is that not correct, or am I suppose to be someone else, or feel like someone else, the other I do not understand, the other I do not care for or about, the other I would never want to be, or the other that embodies, mimics, and mocks, all the sources and ends to my yielding to the scorns of life. No, I am only ME. That’s all I will be. Except, at the moment, and as abruptly as it may seem, at the moment- I do not know who I am.

Chapter Two — The Girl

Sitting in the subway, taking a stroll around the lake, all that time away from actually writing, your entire purpose of existence will-not rush to your mind-but simply all make sense.
Whether or not that is actually constructive is again, trivial at the moment. Whether or not the fact that the absentmindedness afterwards undermines all that insightfulness that had came before it makes the entire conversation unworthy of being discussed by its entirety, is not important, or just not interesting enough for me to ignore the fact that I am, at this very moment, running through a endless territory of barely anything other than stripes of forests away from the occasional darkness that most would call night.
If there were anything beyond the soft grip of the crisp emerald fields of molds and fungus, the soft shower of the gleaming silver moonlight, the tanning hides of the shading elms, an occasional joy of a little wilder beast, and the deadly silence, it is not within my sight, and I must be heading towards it. Yes, there must be something else.
Something beyond this stillness, this stock-still, never fleeting moment in time; there must be an end that is not an end for all this seeking of the seeker. There must be a meaning in all the seemingly meaningless continuation of a standstill.
There must be a gift, a present, well just a difference, to be the spark in the storyline, but what is it? I could guess, but that’s expectation.
Expectation, the tail of the tale you will be chasing after that exists not, because, all that you would have believed in only exist within your mind.

The Tree

One of my branches caught beneath the cape, and scratched at her ankle. I shook, and she did too, but only so slightly. Perhaps it was the wind, well, for me, but for her, I would rather, it was the instinct sensing of pain, or may be just a itch. Whatever it was, it was to be felt; she felt it, and so did I.
She did not, however, respond in anyway, and quietly she passed on. This is a disappointment to me, sadly. Actually, it was more than that, I felt a downing of emotions, from the curiosity of a child to the most slight, yet the most intimate pinch at the heart, a sharp pain.
What did I expect, was she to stop and grant me a part in her story, in the flight of the has-been worldly, and leave everything behind.
Have I forgotten, once more, that I am a tree, the ultimate metaphor for permanence? Even at that, the fact that I cannot move is not the question, what should be asked is what more could be there for a tree; yes, will I always remain, when all have passed on, the response as always, is probably yes.
What is there then, to all this, why do I still remain? As a tree, where did I get a hope that there is a hope, and what exactly is this hope. Perhaps I just always tell myself to wait and see, yes, maybe that is it. I’ll wait and see.
I turn around, or I just turns my attention back around, expecting to see her vanishing into the distance, however, she had not yet passed me. This time, one of my other branches caught at the cape, threatening to tear off the shield, I tried to stop them, but again, I cannot move. As she defends, the instrument of disguise, also known as the mask, almost yields, and unveils the mystery.
She quickly stations it back in place, nonetheless, although my appearance is as still as stillness can be, with my quick wits, I stole a look beneath the golden disguise, and I was surprised, yet not so much as I was delighted.
She was gifted with a natural pureness in her features, plain, yet, upright, proud, and inherently, and elegantly innocent. The nobleness draws the most fear, shame, and sorrow.
If I could, I would, lower down my gaze, and the crown-how ironic-of my tree, not in admiration, but in shame, the despicable, inevitable taunts of my conscience.
It is only now, that I have noticed as she had passed my way, that there is another player in this game, another character in this story. On her shoulder, sits the stereotypical shape of a petite and bright star. The light, lights my veiled blush of humiliation; she seems even more innocent, even more careless and naive, even more happy.
What is it, what is she smiling about; what is she thinking about?

The Star

Well, I am her, so I would, or just, I should know.
The dreadful thing is, her identity is still a mystery; it doesn’t matter how close you gets to her, whether or not she is a princess, a ordinary farm girl, a boring city child, a dangerous assassin, or whatever she is, doesn’t just suddenly hop out in the clear for you. However, you can still sense from the baseline of our so called humanity, the little insanity our souls call intuition, an indecipherable comfort of our inner most consciousness, and subconsciousness.
I can see my own reflection from the back of her mask, funny how I can’t still see Her. Does it matter if I see myself, if all that’s ever going to change is my consciousness. Perhaps not, perhaps all I need was a sense of being, a sense of existence, to feel that extra undecipherable sense of bliss by mere proximity, I am with her, feels her existence, and that is all I needed.
Written some time in 2012.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Aug 2017
I will keep the memories of you in my mind
Like a cherished and tattered anthology
To flip through constantly
Happy to have found such a wonderful treasure
However fleeting and incomplete each story may be.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2019
The road from Nothingness of Being to Existence of Being back to Nothingness of Being is logically unsound and inefficient. A straight path of redundancy, from a permanent nothing back to itself needs no meaningless detour of a temporary path where nothing is brought back.

The road from Nothingness of Being to Existence of Being forward to Endlessness of Being is a much more rational way of travelling. As an unavoidable path between two places that must be traveled to the end to reach the new land from the old is a much less pointless method and surely vital.

Or better yet, perhaps not a strait between two oceans of emptiness and fullness, but a ring! Endlessly living, through and through. From the everlasting and continue to the never-ending.

A Plato's perfect circle!
A Plato's Perfect Circle!
By: Yitkbel Yue Xing ****
November 3, 2019 18:55 PM - 20:32 PM
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
I have a childlike outlook
A hand drawn interpretation of life
But it is your warm and reassuring love
That adds all the color to my blank coloring book
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2015
A Scar
By: Yue **** Yitkbel

I walk slow
Light-feeted and soft
So as not to disturb the sentiments

I walk silently
Traceless like the wind
So as not to leave a scar
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
Even though you are away
I will still stay
Waiting for that one inevitably unexpecting day
When you mindlessly pass my way
And finally,
Steal my wanderlust soul astray.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Feb 2018
I finally realize
My dream was never
To break away from
The world
As stardust of
Once upon dreams
Waiting to be reborn
Into the hearts of
A billion souls
That will touch upon the world
As it has never touch upon mine

But to take the storm of the universe
With all of its glorious aches and sorrows
Not for the world to one day remember me by
But just to able to shield one fragile little star
Within the palms of my hands
Savoring the warmth
Of giving all of your love
To a singular seemingly insignificant

To not refuse the world
Or one day
Be a bigger part of the world
But to cradle
A World in the soft palms
Of my callous hands
Giving it all
Keeping it warm
Against the howling wind
Of indifference
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2017
Let me see you before you appear
Let me hear you before you speak
Let me understand you before you
Attempt to connect with me
Let me leave you before you stay
Let me hide away before you see me
Let me keep an impression of you
Before you give it away
Let me fade away before
You remember me
Faint and resolute
From the innocent days.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2017
I want to bury my soul in your loneliness to spring a beautiful dandelion of your happiness.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2019
Mindful of this:

Keep reason (logos) close to your heart, and keep faith closer. (pistis)
Aim not towards greatness, but what is within yet ever beyond: the truth.


The summit, lofty beyond climb, great envy
Wintry and pallid, marked by death
He gives naught but vanity, a mirage empty
Yet takes all, consciousness and breathe

The ocean, vast beyond hope, waves swell
Yet, only faint specks of stars seen
While, within innumerable creatures dwell
It quenches not, but devours every being


Suppose the shape of truth is thus
Suppose the shape of truth and greatness
Is thus
A gargantuan ring hovering within the dark
As if the sun and its shimmering halo arc


Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital


It floats above all, bright
Drawing envy, desire, and fright
This is greatness or great praises
And Truth is concealed in its midst
But greatness and truth are yet apart
Like the Copernican spheres and our star
Only the centre is a fiery near-eternal
Man, being a being, must be ever mindful
Only the truth of white heat beams
Pure yet humble
Could warm eternally the dreamer’s dreams
Perhaps, unnoticed, but vital


Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital


Springs, quietly flow, unfeasible to boast
For only few cherish and worship them existing
If they, being forgotten, with sorrow leave
Then only arid plain, hopelessness remain

Man, rids all the grass and woodlands
To give to the future all, but air to breathe
Till roots no longer bind the dust and sand
And all suffocate, decay and then, cease


Suppose the shape of truth is thus
Suppose the shape of reason and faith
Is thus
One is the skin exterior to the other, heart
Neither will continue to exist, if apart


Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital


Reason surrounds truth, plain unambiguous
Colliding, pulling, repulsing others of same
Gathering retort agreeable as well vicious
Harbouring within his *****, the faith safe
Though it must have eachother, never apart
As of the outer shell and the inner heart
It’s the ticker of life and love that’s most vital
Man, being a being, must be ever mindful
Only a belief of anything true to your soul
Pure, bare, and forever humble
Could prolong your existence with hope
Perhaps, untimely, but eternal


Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital
Be the water, light, air
Transparent, unseen, unnoticeable, but vital


Chasing greatness, Beings of Great Crawl,
Man always craves envy and praise
But the Truth Timeless is not lofty above all
It’s not unfeelable, unreachable
It’s not incomprehensible, undreamable
We should worship humility, most of all
Willing be the unnoticed, often forgotten
Yet, unforgettable and vital
Ever true to truth, true to self,
The Giving Light, Water, and
Breathe, none can live without
Not the glamorously bright, yet cold in its light
But the one unseeable in the sky, yet Ever Warming Life
The Perfect Torus of Truth: Be The Humble Invisible But Vital
By: Yitkbel Yue Xing ****
Written originally in Chinese: November 6, 2019 8:25 PM
Translated to English: November 6, 2019 11:20 PM
Date of correction: Saturday, November 9, 2019 1:00 AM
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jun 2019
Beyond the Veil of Our Inverted Universe:

I must wander

Beyond the thinnest part

Of our inverted universe

As we are outside of living

Living the whole of a dream

While dreaming

Fragments of

The Mirror of


Truth is only to be felt

For we see

Only what we wanted to see

And think

Only what we wanted to think

But only feelings

From sparks of infatuation

To chasms of the deepest sorrow

Is authentic

In and of itself


Beyond our desperate

Need for control

And there

Beyond the veil

Of false possessions





The authentic truth



Beyond all thoughts

Rationality and


Merely an intense feeling


With the untamed feeling of me

Two branches of lightning

Bursting through pure darkness

Briefly revealing the

Landscape of our universe

With the collision

Of our pure


When the Sleeper Wakes in Sleep:

When the sleeper ‘sleeps’

He wakes, on the other side

Of Plato’s Cave

And sees time and time again

Often in fragmented consciousness

The world that truly is

“Bigger on the ‘inside’”

“Smaller on the ‘outside’”

It’s like forever standing

Within a mirrored cylinder ring

Keeping faith to its seeming


Even though only

Reflections are being seen

Reflections of the

Geometry of love


Unseen beings




These and more

Floats around the exterior

Of this thin fabric of reality

Bumping into us occasionally

Letting us feel its obscured shape

But never witness its true property

Only through momentary slumber

When we open our minds eye

And peeks at the other side

When we drift away-

Unguarded by our perspective-

Through all of spacetime

And drift closer to the veil

As if through a plastic foil

Can we see and softly touch

The ‘matters’ of truth in life

See the wrinkles

And ripples in time?

That’s where runaway dreams

And forgotten past hide

You will see yours

And even all of mine

That’s why I can live

Again and again your happiness

And joys of mine

With near absolute clarity

Manifested through twinges

And longing

With the help of the night

That’s why

When the sleeper ‘wakes’

He can no longer

Bear this world of bright shadows

And must rush back

To the brilliant world

Under the dark sunlight

That's why

I leave the lies for the morning

And truth for the night

When you're weary of

My dazzling praises

You can dream among

The starry sentiments

Of my moonless sky

A Brief History of that Muse Song:

The weight of thoughts

We hold deep within

Gather and increase in mass

Till we’re beings of immense gravity

Attracted at the moment of first contact

Never letting go

Even through the unseeable distance

I can still feel your pull-

Feel time stretch into infinity

Feel nothing else within my hold-

From our fateful event horizon

Even though we’re both vessels

Of very little voices

We’re far from empty

We’re far from silent-

With every unspoken word-

Not let out to wander and


We bear the roaring wrath

Of neutron stars deep within

Our Soul

And such

Is our ‘Density’


I believe that

Names can physically

Mold a being

Without human intentions

As accidental drops of ink

Muddies the water

Yours follow the opposite

And being true to its essence

You are indeed eternally ‘PURE’

Pure, in the winter lakes

Of your soft pensive eyes

Color of the earth, the dust of existing

Pure, in the crescent

Of your laughing eyes

Hiding no sorrow

Dragging me along with you

When it descends


In the ripples of your soul

As I felt every drop

Seen in your dazzling smile

Unseen, in the dreamer’s dream

And I, indeed a dreamer

The ‘MOON’, the ‘STARS’, and


That radiates not

Within or without

Except under or carrying

Your light

If only I can be your moon

A source of comfort but

Only at your darkest

Never to steal your shine


I am merely a solitary bird

In love with the spotless lofty sky

I may praise it

And lament in its silence

But I can never caress it

Possess it or even

Comfort it

So it shall be

For even a storm of the sweetest dreams

Might taint the purity of a cloudless night
Yue Wang Yitkbel Mar 2019
I must wander

Beyond the thinnest part

Of our inverted universe

As we are outside of living

Living the whole of a dream

While dreaming

Fragments of

The Mirror of


Truth is only to be felt

For we see

Only what we wanted to see

And think

Only what we wanted to think

But only feelings

From sparks of infatuation

To chasms of the deepest sorrow

Is authentic

In and of itself


Beyond our desperate

Need for control

And there

Beyond the veil

Of false possessions





The authentic truth



Beyond all thoughts

Rationality and


Merely an intense feeling


With the untamed feeling of me

Two branches of lightning

Bursting through pure darkness

Briefly revealing the

Landscape of our universe

With the collision

Of our pure

Yue Wang Yitkbel Apr 2018
I love your silence because I can hear everything.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
We are not all born from the light of a thousand spotless suns.
And in the darkness, we wronged, asked for
forgiveness but could not amend the past.
Eventually, we bloom, with learned righteousness, and shined with a new light.

Yet, sometimes, we still wondered, if it is too
late, if we are forever condemned to our childish sins, and naïve hatred, and in the light of those better than us, will we ever be blessed with glad acceptance, or will we be forever segregated for
our past inevitable faults.

We can’t change the past, yet hold on to them,
until the dream of afterlife relieves us from
these mortal coils.
We can build the future, but sometimes only to hide our spectres and cover our tracks.
Will time truly heal the broken Earth with new dust, and tarnish the scars we inflicted upon each other?
In the end, what is our end? For what do we
strive, when all have exhausted, there’s nothing to remember us with, except for-from dust to dust-the words in the wind.

And so, we have to find our happiness in the
living, the moment, and for once, not haunted by the past, and fear for our future. For once, we
want to be content in the present, for the "now" is no longer unkept promises, and successful failures; fading hopefulness, and endless waiting for the beginning of the tale, when there is no story.

We started the search in our past, but the answer will forever be in the present, and our future, forever in the moment.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Aug 2017
I am still chasing the butterfly dream;
I had it in my hands momentarily
all those years ago
When I was just a child
but it flew away, and never came back.
I thought it would visit again
the same time every year,
but one year turned into two,
two years turned into five,
six, nine, ten.
It never came back.

Yet, almost twenty years later,
I am still here,
waiting for a miracle,
Just so I can finally ask it:
“where did you go?
and where did you take
my childlike happiness?”
I had to replace it with this fake laughter
I perfected years ago.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2018
Your souls are the seeds in the wind

I open my arms wide

Hoping to catch them in my dreams

I can barely see them
                  Their very presence

But I can feel them

Rippling through me



Tiny specks of twinges of love

That form

Brief little lightning

                                    Giving me life
October 10, 2018
Just posting and back to hiding.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2018
Do you get caught off guard by life
As if it were a dream-
A fleeting moment-
Caught off guard in motion
Caught off guard by the poetry
That pours out of you
Involuntarily and incessantly?

Like when your pressure blocked ear
Suddenly opens and you realize
You are finally truly hearing for the
Very first time

Your closely watched soul
Suddenly sees the light unguarded by you
And fearlessly
It embraces life

I was caught off guard by you
In that moment of total vulnerability
Undefended by fear
And was conquered unconditionally
Forever by the thoughtless love
Another brief thunder before another calm.
I have been taking a course on War and Peace with Julia Zarankin and during our class discussions, a point was made that woke up a notion in my mind, it was said that "[the characters] don't truly live unless they do so involuntarily" I don't remember it being said in class, but I felt as if they were caught off by life, and I felt as if I have always lived this way.
Always caught off guard by everything, life, poetry, or love.

And yesterday, after coming out of the lift, and going for a short walk, it wasn't until I suddenly felt my ears open up and hearing everything anew so sharply that I realize that my ears were blocked in the first place.
I felt the same way finding love when I finally forgot to look for it and felt everything anew so profoundly. All my joy, my longing, my pain.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2019

If I, with my childlike mind, thus
Interpret Hawking’s analogy here
Of the Universum Infinitus
Not as a fringeless sphere
But as he described, like the surface
Of our beloved planet Earth

Then, the only place
That is beyond time and space
That is with-out time and space
Must be hidden within
Forever, within
Eternity’s grace

What would we see,
If we left Plato’s cave
Into the Perfect Circle
As if through the looking glass
See all of life and existence
For what it was
Without our restricting frame of
Our Consciousness
Fear and awareness of change
And loss
Without fear of the light,
Because we were shielded
By the shadows on the walls
For too long?


Through the perfectly lucid concave
I saw every String and every way
I saw the river of time, the ring of time
I saw it ebbs and flows, without death
And seemingly, forever alive

Humanity, consciousness, swim freely
But each soul stay in place, yet as
The river itself moves, and changes,
No one ever ceases to move

As St.Augustine deducted:
Time is the awareness of change
Something must come from
The Future
It will unstoppably pass into
The Past

The Present
Is almost nonexistent
Ever within one indivisible
Time is meaningless to God
Time only exists for us
For it is what is gained
And what is immediately lost
TIME doesn’t exist for the eternal


Over time, I noticed something This River Time on the other sideSeems to be changing over nightIts flow becoming slower and slowerYetIts waves becoming wider and widerTill less steps is necessary To be able to cross over time     

We measure time by change
But even change is quickly
Becoming more and more often
More and more senile and forgetful

Is TIME ageing? Dying?
Is the river of time becoming
More and more viscous
As the sentiments build-up
Becoming more and more
Like milk or even honey?


Century is the new millennium!
If we measure the river of time
By section or meters of changes
Then, surely we can see that
As the flow of the denser and denser
Bodies of water slow down
Quicker and quicker
What used to be a thousand waves,
Or a thousand years
Is now a hundred waves
Or a hundred years:

If each fixed section or meter
Is marked by a great shift
Paradigm shift or
Great Change
It is clear that the younger time
Used to take shorter, quicker,
And as it grows and ages
His steps become steady and slowerBut each stride becoming longer 
Thus travels faster
Till only in about a hundred paces
Would he encounter another
As opposed to Olden Day’s
Every thousand paces


Time is Consciousness
Or Awareness of change
For if nothing dies, arrives,
Then the constant present
Is forever a place without time

What if the speed of change changes
What happens when change
Seems to be coming quicker
And quicker?

Is change coming towards us
Or are we flowing towards change

Is time ageing?
Is our conscious awareness of
Moving in greater and greater
Moving from thousands of years
To hundreds
To decades
To months, weeks,

Would such a frequency
Exhaust time itself to death?

And grants us our search
For eternity
Not for us to live unbelievably
To age beyond Adam’s 930
But for us, within a hundred years,
A decade, year, month, day,
Hours, seconds
Experience all possible changes
Till we lose it all,
Till no more changes could occur
Forever stills the Status Quo.

We are experiencing it now,
Quicker and quicker
From a thousand years old
To a hundred years old
From centuries of greatness
To fifteen minutes of fame
To weeks of love
And endless separation
Till we exhaust it all
Ran all the way
To end up in the
Land of Waste

Or find a way
Beyond the cave
Into the unfathomable
Perfect Circle
Beyond loss, beyond change

Either way,
We will end up in a place
Beyond Time and Space
A very muddied but curious stream of consciousness formed from different strands of what I recently read (Science for the Layman books), and my naive thought experiments sparked by whatever it is that I encounter.
Century is the New Millennium
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
November 4, 2019 18:47
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2017
I think I can hear you loud and clear
On the other end
Of this channeling soul.

But I am always deathly afraid
That it's just meaningless
Perpetual echoes
Circling within my own
Closed and hollow
Inescapably fragile
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2017
I am not a poet,
Or any wise man of the sort.
I am just a child in love,
Lost within words.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
Draw me with a pencil
Erase me when you've been lured by the next leaf

Color me with chalks
Wash me away when you've been longed by your keep

Hum me with a mindless tune
Forget me when you flirt with your keys

Build me with dust and rain
Break me when you are needed by the warmth and heat

But never ever leave
Those things only love you so casually
But, me
Without you,
I'd cease to be.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Aug 2017
I see words of lost hope and dead dreams
Sprawled around the earth
Like ashes and dust
Ready to sacrifice itself
to spring
A new wave of short lived aspirations

But dreams doesn't just die
It doesn't cease to exist in the moment of revelation
It remains, cinders in the ash pit
Ready at any moment,
To spring back to life
With the full force of  
the once zealous flame
Still perfectly alive at its core.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
I was that empty little pail
With a hole in my heart
Draining my life away
You were that piece of clay
that allowed all of the water to stay.

Except, the water that stayed
Didn't watch its way
Overflowed and washed away the clay
Once again
Broken and in decay
The soul in me drained away
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
You are the full moon in my starless night
As I look for the light lost on the way to my safe keep

You are the tender whispering among the sharp laughters of mockery that grips my soul so softly and loudly

You are the warm tears rolling down my wintry cheeks I kept bare so long and
So numbly

You are the intoxicating reverie in my tumultuously violent and destructive thoughts oceans deep

You are the warm cup of tea
I hold in my stubborn hands as I freeze in the cold running to thee

You are
You are...

You are all that I wanted to keep  

But only come once in awhile so

Still,  I grip onto you tightly
In shattering broken pieces

Just so I can be drenched in those orgastic moments bare and
Yue Wang Yitkbel Feb 2019
Consciousness is decay

Consciousness is atrophy

Consciousness itself is ‘DEATH’


Perhaps suffering

Is not the result of

Divine punishment

But ‘the fruit’ itself

The pain

The poison

For time is no object

A mere space and place

The lack of

For events and

Ever Changing ‘reality’

To be

There is no ‘cease to be’


Only complete transformations



Measures the transformations

Eternal transformations

With finite increments

Of time






Must measure

And limit itself


For eternity


The ‘death’ of


Or lack thereof

[The Cave]

And the sweet hereafter-

The full escape from

The shadowy cave

Of imprisoning



Will be forever unimaginable

For the exterior scenery

Must be that which

This conscious world is not

With absolute free will

And yet

No absolutes




[The Tunnel]

Between the seemingly

Infinite cave


The ‘objective reality’

The truly endless lofty sky

There is a long

But narrow tunnel of


That must be crossed

The Aging mind

Is like the overgrowth

Blocking our view of

On either side

And the search for truth

Of either reality

Shadows or sunlight

Clears the view

Looking towards the cleared


[The Escape]

A full escape of no return

Is the end of consciousness


‘Waking’ from the ultimate


[Keep Dreaming till the Daylight]

You may wonder

What is the use then to

Keep dreaming?

What is the use to limit ourselves

To the good solely.


As we all know

No matter how perfect

The ‘real’ world is

There is no harm

Savoring the sweetest

Illusion for the time being

And make it as sweet as

Can be

[Nobody likes a Nightmare]

Consciousness is a dream

But we can still

And should still

Make it the greatest

Consciousness is ‘DEATH’ Itself
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)
February 17, 2019 4:51PM
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
Craving Paradise
By: Lucian Huw Benedict

I built a paradise out of despair too desperate
Too empty, too silent, I only hear the echoing
Reveries, Fantasies, The Angels are singing
As if so near yet so distant

I built a cathedral with my desires
Above all creations, through the windows forever higher
I am burning, drowning in warmth that's not there
Yet I am letting it heal the pain, pouring down Gilded Rain

I crave heaven, snowflakes and stardust of heavens
Yet, I am burning in hell, as
A sinning believer kneeling in the spotlight of Benevolence
Gazing at the white dove, my sight follows it to heaven
Leaving me at lost
My shadows escape, running in two directions
"Are you heading to the quiet paradise?"
"Or to pay your debt in hell, My Conscience”

I saw the angel's innocence with my mind’s eye
Too blurry, too abstract, a mirage's city reigns
Begging, For the Fortune Wheel's Turning Tides
I used my illusions to reverse back the flown kite,
And went back to a Dreamer's night

I wrote rhapsody with a fantasia
A Silent Solo, I can't hear the melancholia
Silent Melancholia
Peaceful, *******, I take off the camouflage
And Play the last desperate tune
Between Heaven and Earth, Up and Down

I crave heaven, lights and warmth of paradise
But am simmering in hell, like the
Sinner in Purgatory aflame in a ray of righteousness
The most sorrowful thunder roars in turmoil among the raging clouds
Just a flight of solitary plight
He spreads open different wings
Crimson light and White shines
Tears him between the Inferno and Paradise
An oldie written with a pseudonym from years ago that I just found. Very different from my minimalist style now but I like it. Just wanted to share.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
Our love grew
Not into a short lived rose
With all its possessive beauty
But into an untouchable
With the gale of time
Carrying it away as soon
We attempt to hold it too dearly
Too closely.

The seeds of memories escape us
But they don't cease to exist
They may drift away
But they will drift back down to earth
Gradually and quietly
Transforming the barren of our minds
Into a beautiful and fertile land
Yue Wang Yitkbel Mar 2018
Empty inbox filled with spam
      Desperate posts with no replies
            Old friend that's just a contact
Streets that are just park lots
     Playgrounds built for geese and ghosts
             Delicate souls hidden in the drive thru

Forgotten songs set as ringtones
      Refreshing the page for hours
            But nothing ever changes when you need it to

And here I am writing love poems and letters
      Never to be read by you as intended
           But keyboards, screens, and those feeling just as alone
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2017
I wish I never moved in too close,
that there were still a distance between us,
for me to feel that pull of my soul.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2018
The summit has not been obscured
By other towering dreams
Peaks of higher aspirations I cannot help
But want to cross and conquer
Or a swarm of warm mist
That seems to disperse whenever I am near
Never letting me close enough
To feel the comfort of its numbness and unawareness
The safety of the oblivion and the oblivious

Instead, I see everything so starkly
And unquestionably clear without a seam
For even a sprout of my readily self-deception
To thrive-
The minute green that would only let me see
Its specks of hope and grains of chance
While hiding away the monolith of impenetrable

No, I no longer see my age old distant reveries
The yonder fading waves of rolling hills
That seemed destined to be mine
The distant mirage I only chased
Because it was a custom to be chasing
They have all been wiped from my mind
By a sudden total eclipse of presence

I have woken up, and forgot what my dreams were
I have arrived on the other side and saw nothing
But the same fields of scattered shrubs and
Abandoned trails

Perhaps it is only I, who’s lost
While everyone else have arrived at their destination

I have not stopped walking-
Towards you, towards life-
Though I have slowed my steps
And paused constantly, to look back
At every step I have taken
Every direction I could have taken
Every route others took
Every footprint that is not mine
I looked at every path I’d strayed
And wondered if I should have stayed
Wondered if I should have went a different way

My every thought flowed over me
Filled in the faults and valleys of my every step
Ebbed away from the path I never doubted
Was the way
Drowned every blade of grass, and
Washed away my conviction
And sent me down the stream back into my
More innocent days

Except, this time, I did not find myself
At the foot of a smaller hill
But, within a pit of pure darkness where
I could see the light, shining on everyone
And everything, but none could reach me
It showed me where I have failed
And where others have succeeded
Every immovable rock I have missed
And every rotten branch I have grabbed instead

I asked the light to spare some for me
Hoping to see everything
Instead it asked me where I most wanted to be
And I pointed up to the summit I thought
Where you were most likely to be
It did not show me a path straight to thee
But every stone that’s strong and sturdy
And told me not to look back or
Too widely around me
Not to question whether the path is the path to be
And stray from my sight to thee
For even if I never reach the place I wanted to be
I will never be lost,
Or be devoured mercilessly by the darkness
That’s everything behind me.
I have been feeling more and more insecure about my poetic abilities and everything else I wanted to be. My words are like mere jagged rocks to me, undecorated, small, and too scattered, for them to be remembered or seen as anything. Still, my ink and quill will never stop gliding, even if they exist only for me. I am made of words, they are rarely been spoken, but they will dwell on my page.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019
A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls


Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being



Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary



Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
The third part of this poem is from the notes of my last poem:
A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
Saturday, October 5, 2019 2:09AM
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019
I am a soul of fragments,
Of the minuscule,
Of the details.
I want to be a great sea of ceaseless poetry,
But always focus on the small, the unnecessary.

I am touched by every soul,
And they live on through me,
Sometimes it's not just me, but
We are all afraid of seeing other's words
Other's mark on us,
But we must embrace freely
The past and the contemporary,
Just as we can't all reinvent LANGUAGES independently,  
We can't have souls that rather be silent
Than to create.

I am merely the temporary vessel
Taking whatever is exterior to me
In the river of all the creations
Letting them combine
Flow together freely
And pour them back out again
Back into Creation.
Back into the great water of poetry,
Waiting to be fearlessly
Into another wave.
Thanks to Lawrence Hall for inspiring this!

I think I can safely say all of my poetry are written completely impulsively; I write them all completed in one sitting, from less than a minute, if it is the one-liner that I used to write more, and think might be quite clever, to a few hours if they are those long stream of consciousness that I enjoy more nowadays.

When the inspiration flows, and while I write, I am immediately transferred to a void of pure focus, and I write down whatever comes to mind, though not completely without deliberate structuring. In fact, I think, I am obsessed with making sure my literary technique follows as logical of a sequence of events as my unkempt and constantly confused mind allows.

My mind is quite filled with metaphors, motifs, and symbolisms formed from everything I experience, see, read, touch, or just appears in my mind spontaneous; when I am aware of their origin, I tried to link to them in the poems itself, as with the bees and flies from War and Peace from the last poem I posted, or I tried to explain my exact thought process in the notes.  

Most times, as soon as I have written about something, I do not want to think or read them again, strange, as they are my own words, but I had always felt like vessel, with ideas always coming from beyond me, independent of me, and then passing through my hands into the world, and then I would feel completely strange to them, and utterly empty. Sometimes I do get outside inspirations, but then again, as soon as I begin writing, I seem to forget everything, even myself.

When it comes to writing, I mostly only feel fulfillment and pride at two close moments,  when I am totally immersed in the poetry and unaware of anything else, and right after writing.

Then, when around a day passes, I am already dillusioned and begin to itch to write something better.

I wrote down whatever feelings, and motifs, and metaphors that came to mind without much thought to why them specifically, whether or not they make logical sense, are they contradicting, are they original or cliched, or perhaps even overused.

What you see/read is exactly what went through my mind without much or even any editing.

In fact, I think all of my writing on here is exactly how it is in my mind, straight from the soul;  the poetry forms itself in my head and heart, and I just let them flow out exactly they are, formed by whatever is beyond me.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2017
Have you ever dreamt of the ocean
And then being presented with a plate of fish
Have you ever dreamt of an old friend
And then welcomed them at your door
The very next day
Have you ever left a place of comfort
In search of better dreams
Only to find that you still remain there
Within your dream of a dream
And could only find comfort in
Returning to the same old place
In the sleep of real life

Have you ever dreamt of love that filled your Whole being with a sweet essence that lasts
The entire enchanted day
And wondered if it was
Mutual longings

I have mastered the skill to predict reaching messages from an old friend
By the reunions in my dreams
Since she always reconnect with me
The very next day
Always took hints from my dreams
On what to write
What to say
Or even what to do

I live in another sentient world
In my dreams
A world not like
Yet not unlike ours
A world beyond the mirror.
A world perhaps beyond
The reflective fabric of our own reality.

(Dream is a mirror that goes both ways, and like a mirror, when you know what to do with it, you can use it to your own advantage. And it works very well too.)
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2017
Our thoughts
Our inner most fear, loathing and desires
Form little bumps
Lines and dots
In the reflective fabric of our reality
It's the Morse Code of Our Souls
And dream is an interpreter.

That's why when you miss me
I will dream of you so
Message received.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Dec 2017
"I feel things
Different things in different
Volumes, shapes and forms
That I interpret to be messages
Or signals
Rather than mere one sided
Mental and psychological manifestation
On my part
Wishful thinking

I have assigned
Or rather
I have noticed a pattern
Among the differing
Twinges and pangs
I have experienced

Some were felt clearly
As a result of some
Action on my part
As I were the one
Conjuring up thoughts
About the receiving

Were sudden
And unprovoked
And these
Are what I perceive
Communication from
The Exterior
Of one's own mind

For that.
When one feels
True intuitive guidances
One knows."
Yue Wang Yitkbel Jul 2017
I dwell in the past, standing on flecks of dust.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2017
I won't cross the line
I won't get too close
But I will be here
Waiting for you
In the familiar distance
Until you come back around
Until I am nothing
But the dust in the wind.

Perhaps then,
I can finally caress you
Caress your coat
Caress your shadow
Caress your smile
Caress your soul
Fierce and eternally.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Aug 2017
If only I can be
An ordinary seed in the heap
My soul content and roots deep
Forever present in your keep.

But when my time is up and have to leave,
Please a dust let me keep,
So that, wherever you may be
I will guard you in The Sleep.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Feb 2019
Say if all events:
'Past, present, future'
All possible occurrence
Chosen and averted
Are already on the 'map'
Of spacetime
(Interpreted from Relativity, Einstein)

Like infinite numbers of
Vacation spots

Time is merely
Our conscious measurement
Of indivisible increments
Of the ever-present
(St. Augustine)

A record of travelling

And if our fourth dimension of time
Is our one dimensional consciousness
Where we can only travel from
Event to event
Dot to dot
In seemingly constant speed
And one direction

As if a railway passenger

In one of the higher dimensions of time and consciousness
Though unfathomable and would seem omnipresent and eternal yet timeless
To us dots in a three dimensional flatlands

As the wayward of them
Had stumbled or spilled
Into our dreams

We would finally be able to
Run wild and free
Greet our past and future
Embrace familiar friends and strangers
In the wildlands
Of a higher dream

And we would not be
Arriving at a dimension of
Love and intuition

But we would inherently
Be beings of love
And intuition

Though we only seldomly
Physically feel them
And never see them

They're part of us
Only visible
Only fathomable
In higher dimension
Yue Wang Yitkbel Mar 2018

You’re the footstep in the snow

I might not always see you

But I will always know

If you’ve been here before

So draw me with a pencil

And color me with chalk

Remember me when you’re here

But forget me when you leave


I know I’m just

Embers among stars

I know I’m only

Leaves within fleece


But I can be your silence

Till all language cease to be

But I can be your mindless tune

Till all songs lose their melody


You’re the wind in the willow

And I’m seeds of memories

Forsaken in the furrow

Waiting to be set free

So hum me like a wordless song

And mold me with dust and rain

When you cease to be near

I will also cease to be


I know I will always be

Flecks of color

On your masterpiece

The words you’ll never speak


But I will be your lighthouse

Till all land becomes the sea

But I will be your canvas plain

Till there’s no more scenery to paint


Even if you’re just my fragile love

Even if you’re just my butterfly dream

Illusive murano flower never touched

Elusive hummingbird among twigs and leaves

I will always love you

Till we are stardust of

Once upon dreams
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019
The Death of Time: Chronothánatos


Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’

The collective consciousness

Branching into streams for each being

Or rather, each SOUL

For it is TIME

The consciousness  

The awareness of change

Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss

That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief


Even Desires for possession

What remains is the eternal

The everlasting

Love without loss

Hope without fear

In Etahphh, the entity of time

As cliche as it is, is

Literally a river

And the streams of consciousness

Literally streams


It would be far more interesting

For us explore the planet Tarphah

Where the whole realm itself

Is a gargantuan elastic fabric

And it is in itself

Time, space and

All of its living souls

Or the perpetual

Self-devouring serpent

Of the Twin Neutron Stars

Where time and all events

Are in eternal repetition

But those are for another day

For time is dying in Etahphh

The eight side diamond shaped

Sandy planet of golden palaces

And crystal blue

River of Time and

Streams of Consciousness

Situated between a Spinning Black Hole

And two colliding neutron stars

Etahphh, where, as it spins

Time is being pulled towards

Either the Night of the Black Hole

Or Day of the Twin Stars

Is about to undergo



The Great Sleep of Time

And Consciousness

The measurement of time

Is rather like the measurement

Of the length of the river itself:

Being divided into fixed increments

You’d expect it to take the same amount

Of time through each circulation

But the flow is never consistent

And more importantly

The viscosity is changing

Time is slowing down

And the planet is getting hotter

For the land roamers of this realm

This means a great change is coming

Though change has been in effect

Since The Great Flood, also known as

The Birth of Time

For in the Olden Days, it seemed like

The ancestors lived forever, or at least

Much, much longer

In reality

It is rather that time used to flow

Much, much quicker

And each Sigh, or each increment

Passed in at least tenth of the present


While aging remained the same pace

In the same breath or meter of time

The same generation lived,

In the past, through a thousand sighs

Or a thousand waves

And in the present, as the flow slowed,

Through only a hundred

To the rich and powerful

And creatures beneath the waves

The direction and speed of the flow

Matter much less than to those

Without vessels, or the ability to

Wade and swim freely through the waves

However, that is only if the waves does flow

What happens when the ‘Chronothánatos“

Does finally occur?

Does everything stand still?

Even aging and atrophy?

But surely, not the subconscious, the soul

And since sand must return to sand

Does that happen the moment of thánatos?

And are we therefore instantly released from

Our ****** confinement?

Do we roam free as spectres in a waking dream?

Without temporal consciousness,

What remains of thoughts?

It might still be unfathomable

For beings confined to travel

Linearly in spacetime

Some no matter what direction

Or speed

To truly grasp the reality

Of an existence of

What would seem like

All that would happen

Would happen all at the same instant

The same exact indivisible moment

Much like life on the planet of

Phahrah, where all of its history

Happen in a single moment

Ever closer to eternity for its citizens

But next to nonexistent

For distant observers:

In the moment

Its whole cradle Nebula

Was destroyed and swallowed

By a gigantic black hole-The Thánatos-

Life was created

As it’s waters dispersed

And land was slowly exposed

For the powerless among us

The freedom of pure soul

Its twinges of love and joy

Without loss, without pain

Is ever freeing and welcoming

And as the planet is becoming

Hotter and hotter

The Death of Time seems like

The perfect paradise

But for the Rich and Powerful

Who has for countless generations

Used observers and other means

To ensure their life is lived to the

Most prosperous outcome

Being so powerful for a long time

Is perhaps more tempting than

Being eternally powerless

They might be able to set up

Minions at fixed points in

History of the Present, Past, and Future

To ensure all possible outcome

Of each action is reported back to all

Previous points no matter what

Can they be so powerful to

Stop, rather in this case

Revive Time itself?




How convenient it is that

Time is a river and there are

Stillwaters of inconsequential events

The general plan is thus:

To use ‘unused’ time

To prolong time

To use wasted water

To replenish the rivers

And continue and repeat

Forever forward

And so

The observers became gathers

And unworthy streams

Will make its sacrifice for the

Greater good

But the lever of the Time Reserve

Was not to be pulled until

The very last moment

And the most ruthless of

The Clockwork Regime

Is set to pull it

For even lives barely lived

Still lived

And death is always unwanted

By the sufferer

And any measure to prolong

The Status Quo when there is

Hope for a much much more desirable


Is always met with





How do you rebel against

Those who could see through

All of time, albeit through

The Gathering Observers

Their minions at hand?

They must be the key

These Reporters of Time

Surely not everyone of them

Is as devoted as the rest

And surely, not all of the

Rich and powerful

Is against this welcoming


Elimination of all of them

Is not only impossible

But also impossibly cruel

Just certain calculated altering

Of pinpoint events could in theory

Alter the course of that one specific

Event, even if ever so slightly

Only a thought need be erased

Or even just unnoticeably delayed

By just one indivisible moment

To end their reign of eternity

And let time meet its natural end

In a world where if there is

No one coming back in time

To stop you is a literal

Indication of everything

Going exactly as it should be

Perhaps, just a confused distraction

Is enough to terminate a timed action

We could find points in history

Where by slightly altering

The outcome of certain elections

We could end up exchanging

One key decision maker for the other

From one for the Revival

To one for the Death

Or a simpler and more likely


We just need a rogue agent

To delay the inevitable revival

By one second, or just, again

By one indivisible moment

Beyond the point of no return

The seed, the idea of his betrayal

Must be planted at birth

Unbeknownst to even himself

By people’s subtle mentions

All throughout his life

Till his final act is without premonition

And completely sudden and unstoppable

Out of

Perhaps, yes, wrath of revenge?

The one to pull the lever

Will not be without enemies

So our hero must be close to

One of his previous victims

Take heed of the target’s every word

Especially his very last

For that will be the Trigger:

Our hero's very first word


His love’s very last word

For revenge must be buried

Deep in his heart




Rebirth, Erahkhu

The General’s last word was

Echoed through the Time Reserve

And entered into Erahkhu’s

Stream of consciousness

It became his first thought

It became his first word

It became his name

Erahkhu loved Thaehrah

And when she was killed

By a bandit within the rebels

It became her last word

As falling into the river

She called out to him

Erahkhu thought he was

Destined to help revive

And rebirth the dying

River of time

As did the General

For it was he who ordered

The killing of Thaehrah

To ensure Erahkhu left

His home at the riverside

To become the destined

Final observer and witness

As witnessed and observed

By Reporters of his time

But as the General’s last words

To begin the rebirth echoed

In unison with the voice

In his stream of consciousness

As it did when he was born

As it did when she died

Erahkhu’s last indivisible moment

Was never intended for birth

Or Rebirth of any kind-

It was the General’s last word

It was our hero’s first word

It was his love’s last word-

So it was to ensure death

The death of the General

And the death of time

Perhaps, without it

Without prolonging of life

They may once again





We succeeded and time died

But we were not reborn as

Timeless beings

Or reunited with our ancestors

Or Erahkhu with the love of his life

In that better kingdom

We can now faintly see

But never reach

Where Thaehrah and the General


We are destined to roam forever

As aimless spectres, for we never

Crossed the threshold of True death

But became The Ghosts of Ennui

Our home was eventually plundered

Turned to ruins and then finally

Taken over by a nautical race of

Time creatures in the shape of waters

And in effect, ironically, revived the river

The River of Time
All of my poems are written on a impulse in a stream of consciousness, even when they are structured or follows a narrative, no matter how many lines or words, I write them all at once. So I do not know if this even makes sense.
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019

I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:

I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from  books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)

Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (

Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.

What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)

When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us?  Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2019
I see pain and discomfort shunned
From all beings breathing far from the sun
Yet, I’ve questioned if it was all right
Even though the sages have aged
The wise still rains truth
From storms of dust and pebbles
From lives full of peace and suffering
Having tasted it all to know that
   If you drink the honey first
   All else pales in comparison
   And the bitter ever more unbearable
   And if you bear the bitter before the sweet
   All the more pleasant the world will be

   You’ll never miss the near, but ever the far faraway
   Long for the berries and peaches that only visited
   Once a year
   Long for the meals that saved you from constant hunger
   Though only if you have starved and felt the ennui of
   Easy fulfillment till gluttony

And then, I have met
A different kind of suffering, like a spectre
Looming above the land of the cloudless
Looming above us, the youth of peace
Where all labor towards momentary fulfillment
Way too brief compared to the prospect
Of an eternity as ash and dust
Life of unbearable levity
In a world that has lost its true gravity
In a world where nothing lasts more than a
Few wrathful moments

Even with faith for the faithful
Who wants to live half of their life
Dancing with death
Only to live each day afterwards
As another life gained

At the same time
Who wants to live all their time
Chasing a dream ever in the distant
Only to one day wake up from the mirage
Pondering the purpose of the distance

I can only wish that
When you close your eyes
You may not despair in the brief
But rejoice in the ensuing wonder of
An eternal dream
So brilliant near the

There, things last
Not pain, in a land
Impossible to lose
But, unfathomable peace
Without ennui.
September 27, 2019 14:16
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
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