sino ba nag kinakita sa imo
ikaw sa akin ko mata
kasi nag mamata ako
dito para sa imo lang

sa oras hasta sa langhit
o sa akin ko otak
a’yun aking ko inisipon
ang trabajo nang carabao
diri sa dupa nito

ang isda nag lumipad sa tubig
a’yun pispis na malapit sa cahoy
kasi ang dahon nag tuktuk

sa kamut ko nag pabalhasan
sa sarap nang kabuhi
ang kawi mo nag pula
kasi mayong adlaw
ang tini-tikman mo

dugay naman ang hapon
karon lang, pagtulog ako

stethoscope to this chest reading one of these "dubs"
as captions to italics  sometimes, we lead
too patient lives, one as receptive the second as disruptive
covertly, convertedso to alleviate, vindicate
these dial tones
exchanged -so to compliment- verses in the clarity
of LP vinyl tracks
posture within degrees
to hear a “Hello?”

Reflected, an iris      of colored contexts      that once had reception without spectacles.       I signed voluntarily the letters to a name      that I sincerely wanted to keep.       I tried to limit the lines      that divided the print      of a written statement of deliverance;      a sealed inner sanctum      that has remained defunct      while displaced of force      all along devout of a substance,       my words strived to be read      ingrained on paper      placed in constants      among summations of variables       clearly he scribed drafts      maintaining a patterned      complex of metaphors      only to contradict       the expressions layered,      confusing this thinker      so that the reader      may interpret a plausible       audibility for thought       looking beyond spectrums      of what is to be foreseen

Water take no cleansing action to his detention
That has felt no remorse for the notion of vindication

Foolish mentality, child without maturity
Lead by impulse, and lulled by a narcissist

Sitting there like gravity has given you control
Ignorant individual entrapped with your own soul

Take one moment, talk, not to her but for her
Exactly what was your discourse, are you her

Did you act on juvenile inclination or fortification  
Subconsciously lost to wicked temptation

Sincerely do you have a mental hindrance
I’m subjecting to name-calling because of this dance

Who are you following what are you allowing
Your letting the past mold your thinking

Don’t get defensive you made the offensive
Your know the history, yet you let lust be submissive

“Go back” that is what you lack, the thought to review
And guide your way through and accept you’re flawed

Conscious how below self awareness motives can be.
Subconscious no matter the state.

The density remains linear; all drawn in pen
to attend to these feuding desciples
of being “super” and the instinctive relliance on idioms,
of actions portrayed further than words,
finding balance on this epicenter
of egocentric dreams coined all along the same metaphor.

Sides- to what ever shape of form of the matter ,
linear at point we all eventually
dive/urge finding another
point above or below
convergence in light
to change focus in volume/mass
equaling (1)ndividuality / decreasing the density of situations

I have been pacing enamorately,
standing in airport terminals
not looking for your arrival.
But my eyes began to respectfully
look elsewhere as you came.
My words seem lackluster as we spoke
but I'm just captivated.
I want to write to you,
but i am unable to.
The departure time fast approaches,
and my destination awaits,
can we have just one more conversation,
so that I can listen to you.

The minute handed the past
while seconds elapsed alarms.
Expectations lead to patience
- causations falling over charm.

Unrequited executed hanging
on holding all the rest.
Sincerity perpetuated,
unresolved swinging at last.

Barefoot without impression
you remembered this pair.
Unexpected crosswords
rising letters to share.

An exchange of auditions
retracting resigned conditions.

Dreaming seems to be a cycled reality,
dueling matters of vague interpretation
almost holding on to a fugue
state of delieverance,
that returns to dreaming.

A wakefulness that pardons our stressors,
exploring how sureness of changing tides
have arrived to wash the shore’s footprints;
turning salutations to a once cumbersom
slumber to keeping these eyes closed.

The mind never rests,
it continues to timely act.
Despite the character of one’s gait
submissive to extrinsic. We dream the same.
A neutrality in recognition,
the deepest desire,
the social matter,
and the human acceptance.

We rise to sleep
to deeply wake
the harden reality we failed,
to accept throughout our day,
removing our knighly armor and face
our dragons which have their own vices,
yet our devices hinder. Our true dreams,
blur between eyes closed
changing to dreaming with eyes open.

Realizing all true negatives are true
positives differing only from accepting
that I can vertically add difference;
we can all equate to change
if you keep dreaming in mind.

I can't help but be concerned with your every move
with my mind developed in solitude
You move with out care with drunken eyes
Over mornings with an aching sighs

You speak with conviction
A smile with devious intention
But with a fire of daemonious concerns,
An Attention for fallen angels, you learn.

That the reality is not complete
Disconnected from you, and discontented
You elicit change in others providing
Romantic praise in libations of initiations

You gather lives, pressing a piece of yourself
In each intimate encounter – satisfied
That you have made light of their candle
A blue flame of resolving promises

You have kept yourself well
Free, intangible from the intrinsic
Drawing from your own ambiversive nature
Clearing your own torture of monotonous conjecture  

I almost lost your reflection
From the diversion of an incidence

Realizing your beauty surpassed superficiality
Through your eyes I see aesthetic sensuality

Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.

The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.

Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.

Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.

The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.

Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.

From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.

These Nights with lights, Lightened from cigarette filled clouds to rainstorms.
We are drowning our Inhibition to exhibitions, of a shallow madness.

Within a matter of clearance
Of transverse sunrays:
We call this morning
A day past,
A night ruled with dreams.
Flooded with traffic afflicted
Souls searching beneath empty vessels of libations
Only to unearth realizations from lost sensations.

Vagabonds patrolling streets
apparently policing their worries,
from failed inquiries of maternally adopted creeds.

Divided vision escalated arrhythmic palpitation
Deviation from a gradual calm away from calamity
Expel, Exhort-Excise, the deep-veil

A rising dawn, polluted skies reflected in these eyes,
I stare at this street lamp, flickering at-us-all.

He plays a tune hand calloused and all.
Face against the blue filled with malice
Flashing a florescent blissful green
Changing all so lightly still

Leave him alone, sunset to sunrise
Pondering birth to death.

Crimes of our very own human dignity
Imprisoned, for our clawing entity.
Plays shadows beside this fluttering sail.
A pale veil that will bring us no avail to bail;

Light hearted the human soul is not.
Weight within ignorance and defiance
the mind is consumed by all reflection
bland or complex, life has no attention.

Stained glass windows, black widows
Rainless mornings, and frivolous sermons
Taken to the tortured girth of human doubt.
We are lightless and stationary only to run.

Along the shoreline, faith is not receding
Only seldom visited.
Replaced by the capture and rapture
Of virtually tangible lights;

News no longer plays homage to heart
Rather lies rampaging the feeble apart.
Pessimism parallels reality.
Rendering sin’s originality.

Our causes parallel pauses
Making these changes in duality
Deafening intrinsic viability,
only to expunge identity.

Looking back at the advertisements
Across the widely boarded stilts
Lit to view by admitting at will
Driving forward looking back still

He manages to free his thoughts
as he gazes the television
for news from a distance,
while continuing to sample
his supper of rice,
and sauteed vegetables
on a aluminum serving plate.

The restaurant he owns
dimly lit this mid-afternoon
with ghostly lanterns,
and artistic impressions
of times past on the wall,
while customers
walk and gingerly pass
ordering from an eclectic
menu of indo-latin-euro-oriental cuisine.

A neapolitan of condiments
dancing among garlic chili sauce,
and mayonnaise.

Mahogany grained panel walls,
and formica woven
seats, uniformly
scattered among
porcelain white
plates; traditional.

Engraved Jade pieces
hung with colors of luck
on each entrance.

I approach the counter.
A sepia toned
picture of his family
hanging by his register
no first dollar bill
or recognitions.
Just family held,
through time,
as he hands me a check.

Difference meant crosses
connecting lines of diffusion.
Anak, there was a time
your last name - carried
but prejudice will follow.

Our immigration,
garnered tailored unsuited
ties to our beautiful pearls,
progress adapts singularity,
a strength for your identity.

Relief, from fastened shades
opens palms allowed to dry.
Soiled worth will blossom
your ancestry will procure
self-reflection, and will spread.

Speaking our language
turned to novelty stones.
But a divided tongue
will speak the same good
bringing you respect.

Wash your hands, pray before
eating with your hands.
Appreciate the feel of the rice
each grain has it’s worth,
the pull from our hull.

Fine porcelain litters the cloth,
yet a quick pull leaves it still.
An exchange of tails both
holding, careful to not spill.

Our plates remain intact,
despite accidents of gravity.
Clearing the surface momentarily
within arrangements of integrity.

Utensils quickly turning
our tensile accent; I uttered
Vowels to what was heard
repeatedly signed our yearning.

Cease the peace.
We tease ourselves
with every crease on this paper;
we call our lives.
Folding in ourselves
to make better
when we can do better.

Decrease the least pleasant day
from your mind, only this time
you’ll find a piece of paper, within you.
Written with words.

Not monosyllabic expressions
Of yes, no, and may-be, so

There will now be phrases that erase the seclusion.
Creating, and not copying
Leading, not following

And finally realizing
Humanity is at a loss
A loss from this paper
That is not glossy
Cause it should reflect
Who we are

speaking only
through moves;
we are playing games
of chosen mad-libs
and retracing Uno steps
to find ourselves,
to return back looking
for multiple axes
so you or maybe I can
call bingo!

but I move, without you seeing
you return to reprise tension
lessening these enveloped expectations

rolling single digits
i'll fall behind, though you follow
this trend we seem to allow

hoping to land
on the same space
so that piece of you
may continue

All through the afternoon,
among these drinkers
to their tables to java cups
all from a bird’s-eye view.

Blended individuals,
of varying hues
too much sugar, no need to stir
hot, no ice - “a language of their own”
adding “cream to this crop”
like fraternity’s rushing thought
to seemingly **** out the weak.

Textbook before my face, coffee to my right
surrounded by chatter, and apparent debacles
behind the rearing of my ear lobes
set the seem from my shirt and cut
play the motion picture, film, pan out.

360 crossover,
these eyes wander, merely to ponder
conscious parenting to the mind; reminded
yes I did complete that -
atoning to what could be done,
view now from my eyes
around clouded peripherals
(zooming into this page)
trying to read to figure
a Venn diagram of the temporal lobe;
committing to memory ironically
it’s long-term function to maintain
the conception of this thought.

Distracted, back to this drink
re-calling coffee mythically impedes growth
or so they say to stray from focus -
the holder is the cup, to handle is abrupt
but we drink it, to straighten our view
so much as this morning vice stimulation
branded by a jaded graphic mermaid,
or possibly a siren, or to some a muse.

But, it’s the afternoon; no need to rush,
just here and there, casually taking sips
temporary jolts of caffeine
a temple of thought,
temporarily fading,
due to lacking the day-to-day rest.

Same perspective,
but this time curious, calm, and collected
like a child looking above an ant-farm - proud
gazing at moving points like synapses
of our coffee cups as opening our wakefulness.

Can we just remember to understand
that everyday is different.
Our mornings may start mundane
but we find joy in the day
for afternoon connections
no matter what they may be, just to remember,
so that we can have lasting memories,
and not the caffeinated ones.

When we enter this reality
Through the uncalled memory
Of our birth,
Crying with nonsense
To newly unveil senses.

The doctor readying his slap
To insure
You’re aware of the world.

The initial daybreak
Grasps with instinct
From the stem
Of our brain,
But we develop
Further in life learning
To walk, talk,
And even further
To tuck in that dress shirt,
All in all learning
The basic facets of living;

Only to further learn
That we cannot know everything
Undefined definite definition
A plotting knot of resolved fiction,

Dualities, influences, susceptibilities,
Insecurities, indecencies, and tendencies
In us all for us to see
And choose not to be.

The card game
Of social exposition
And inquisition
Learning to understand our face
And the people that we trace,

Forming, deforming, uniform
Difficulties
We stumble,
To return standing;

Challenges in holding hands
Returning affections, and mental afflictions
Gaining understanding
That we are being human beings
Refractive in and Reflective at seeing

Birth parallels death
No choice, versed vice
Falling and stumbling sadly
Last moments
Of our lives, begin

Talking gibberish,
Eating mush,
Having no memory
What happened yesterday?
While you lay in your crib
Asleep to a reality

the lunacy that is foreseenfrom the eccentric glowof what we affix as attentivewaves in contracted honesty pulling for a dualitydespite our trained individualitywith this intended dissension  we are seeking comfort pushing within our fortifiedfacades dwelling, foretellingmelodic expressions revealing a need for innocenceto run proportionally with socratic thought

to the thought of you
that motif of you
was like a latent infection
like hives to my face
making me red but breathless

made me realize
got me sensitized
when a new face,
recalled called before
these eyes that came into focus
instead of my eyes clear to you

that was once too far before
repetitive inhibited i’ve become
playing mute like an idiot
like a puppet on the a string
couple with a hand up the rear
faking every smile with a cheer

this isn’t a hate a poem
not lyrics to tic away
the times of regret to rhyme

no, not at all
not seemingly at all
not even partial, somewhat

i needed to make peace
with myself, and my mother
a tangible door that i left
through with the window
wide open, tired, and confused
through a flow that obstructed
with only beams from high school
no foundation to be constructed
I upset her and it was not you
it was the person that gave
the very thought of me to even
conceive to help you, be there for you
i repressed that, i suppressed that
but finally I’m relieved of you
now closer to my parents
that you’ll ever be to yours
it’s the truth, not an insult

i spent all these years
psychoanalyzing a psyche
undirected, ironically
you gave me direction
away, no contention
just signs, and many exits
but i continued to drive
passing opportunities
friends and happy moments

i have internalize this too long
reading into nothing, yes it could have been
but I focused on changing you,
because of you, what you have seen

i’m done, fully relinquished
you probably won’t know, or ever care
or even read this, never took interest
anyways on this craft of mine
only on witchcraft because you never
cared too much on your own faith
again the truth

as I observed, you’ll only come around
from getting broken and surely that was it
but in the end, there was only so much
we can mend the people around us
they have to realize, and yes you made me realize

if the world wasn’t the way it is
the only women i’d call my best friend
wouldn’t have to contend with the contents
of this poetic discourse, because frankly
all this could have been averted
but it was because I’m too good of a person
too nice of a guy, never wanted to play the game
now i’ve mastered it, just been holding on this space

but that was it, it was just space
you dragged the offensive of me
a defensive I have known all along
and kept pensive
it’s just we try to keep
what we can not have

His observant mind held
      Strands of coded bonds
      Fond of expressions for
      Incisive presentations
      Of what could be foretold.

      He metastasized thought
      And tempted his youth,
      unraveling behavior
      favoring adult endeavors
      And here I permit my fist
      Beneath my chin in complacency

      Statuesque, pondering whether
      My decisions are remnants of bloodlines,
      Coupled complexes attractive to be subtractive
      To my true desires

      Whether his dismays maybe in part
      To inquiries of adolescent angst
      The repetitive cycle remains with
      Finding one’s embodiment of identity

stern with his words
to discern his concerns to stranger's for their hearts. infallible to present emotion
through echoing laughers; a healing tone around the restless worries of his kin.
abound him is the aura of forgotten soul,
a classic remixed romantic
comparable to the chivalry lost to the courts of modern life.

True criticism
Whether constructed or impulses for the moment;
Taken or not, to be offended by it
Is to be aware of an interjected potency.

A toxin of a so-called realization to drive towards sin
Or perhaps self-actualization, to whom we are within

Mind differs from soul, on the division of what is human.
The thought conveyed is lacking in being, rather than seeing.

Applying logic as a constant is grounds for ill confidence.
In a quality that droughts in tears from a cyclic existence

The thoughtful thrive on selfless striving
to be heard, immortally by their reviving words

The self-centered gravitate to absent causes
assisting no one, and becoming less heard

But sincerely who is right to judge you and me
Bias surrounds us, traps us to filter what we see and believe

Faith is lost to a logical world, where action is questioned
And the metaphysical will soon be poisoned by what is known

There are lights
Not meant to succumb to blight
Of the true dissension of Adam’s apple bite

Our preconceived notions
can’t seem to be left at the door
as we all seem to meet each other
for the first time, hand shake in check
psychiatrist inspecting psychologist
who to take, what to take, can we partake
in this guessing game of assumptions;
all because we are deeply insecure.

Yes, perhaps the writer even the reader
can take heed even implore the words
from abstracts, to ideas set forth to type
font, confront abound the reflective recollections,
as I form sentences and you figure the syntax.

Seeping through the membranes that we have solely
constructed from the libations and gluttony from opposite
heads to tails; phobic forming channels flipping
ratios of eyes on you, and yourself so to be social
concentrates every weekend, only to dissipate.

What has been lacking is simple genuine
conversation of good morning, how are you ?
exchanging information so to know
one another - that is being social.

The microcosms we place ourselves into are nothing more
than are fathom facades we trace as perimeters so to measure
how much we can let people into our already egocentric lives.

Don’t contest that statement, to some level we all have absolved
in our own thoughts everyday, that we lose sight perhaps
what we see with our eyes should be understood logically
with conscious from the back of our minds.

Tip this scale for which we wait, taking to memory
that we heal as we initiate, and take ourselves
into each others weight, so we can carry on.

Write me a line or two
A progressive tone from you
Why holding my head down
I am no longer wound around you

I swear I was sulking it in all
A pseudo reality to rise and fall
And despite my sublime awakenings
I find myself again human and waiting

Patiently in line with elevator music
Filling once sincere responses
With empty ad-libs. Blank
A thought has just sank

The dawn now has its essence
Talking now with others has substance
Walking in the rain now has its claim
I don’t know, what or whether to blame

And if I wake and no longer see
Its just because i have not been me

Escaped, is that truly the objective adjective
A feeling perhaps everyone has projected
Or are we seeking within filling to feel secure
Are we affixing words for our selfish cures

Let us take our thought and dissect its pieces
Fit the jigsaws, does it compliment with ease
Photographs stuck on milk cartons like cement
The directive is the fleeting human element

Living in ones past, shadowed assurance from last
Foibles of human inquiry questioning with haste
Lapsing the collective logic of the inner sage
Soul bombarded, thwarted, strengthening with age

Examine not observe nor merely think your being
Vignettes to films are you truly sure your seeing

I would be lying if I said
i couldn’t read
what is on the back of my hand
because what is on my mind
describes the inscription
on the palm of my hand

That’s why I can’t help
but look down and prepare
the roles in my eyes
every time I hear
your familiar tone
trying to play by ear
on keys I’m still trying
to find to hold.

then i strike a chord
you search the sound
to imitate, we both smile
and create a look so similar
so familiar
because you have music
in thought to my lyric

I think we can commit
to memory this piece
of harmony we started
to play and lend
a melody to
but if not i’ll try to play
without notes
and hopefully
you’ll follow too

Brought from this morning
Tracing back days away from here
Where time won’t wait for understanding
Please hear me out for I cannot
By this time you still know my intentions
But I don’t know your direction
Where you’re lost, where you’re confused
Just take a listen through your window
For I’ve taken my words given my voice
Despite your choices, to me you still have poise
You just need to be aware of your heart
Your brokenness, with reason from these stories
There are no coincidences in our breaths
Every move, has meaning upon our days
It has been too long I’ve pondered
Disappointed, shunned and misconstrued
Maybe though that’s my limit to be a conscience
So that I no longer have this internal dissidence

Let your eyes adjust
Are you sure, you truly understanding what your seeing
I’m a human being captured by the ignorance of darkness before you
Has this cave sincerely shackled you to your seat?
And only shadows on the wall
Is what we only believe exists
Is there more to life
Question and answer answer and question
Life is filled with opposites
Take me, as a messenger telling you
That the world we live in is a pseudo-reality
Tell me do you know what really happened during nine eleven?
Do you know that you are able to bend a spoon?
Do you truly believe that America is the ambassador for democracy?
Or ironically terrorism in itself
We believe what we want to believe, that is the human condition
Curiosity fueled by suggestion
The problem, is understanding that our curiosity can be lead into fallacy

Have you seen the light, the light of the red pill?
That will no longer make you ill
To this ignorance of illusions, that the media has communicably gave to us
I stand before you with a light of my own
Not completely enlightened but enough to tell you
To question your surroundings and not preach
But rather hopefully teach you
To do just as Socrates did. To keep on questioning
Because we don’t have all the answers
Hopefully we may one day completely have the courage
To leave this Omelas of American thought
And find that natural drive within us to seek the truth
The world isn’t this tangible sugar coated honest reality
Individuals lie, deceive, and make the world what it doesn’t seem to be
Please have an open mind
For what the world needs is growth in intellect
And not in economy for to understand that legitimately
We may then begin to solve the problems of humanity

Reviewing has been the perpetual answer.
To the unclear inquisition
that befalls the people
I have not seen
or spoken to for some time.
But there’s a progress
to the studies
which have accompanied
my mind to see beyond even me.

Thorough repetition
of factual information
in a mundane fashion.
The passion for acquiring
the necessary knowledge
has found it’s self
incorporated
in the daily conversation.

In the morning
a discrete young woman
fashioned with a “salmon”
bandana, leaving the cafe
with green tea in hand.
Followed by the waddling
footing of a child holding
a mother’s hand.
In passing, an adult
repetitively cursing
on the undertones
of their words.

The following day
a man in a tailored suit
talking to himself
with an ear-piece
unseen to some.
A young man
holding his father’s hand
hauling an oxygen
tank behind him.
A young lady with
white complexion,
studying. As she faces
my way her cheeks appear
with patching tones of black.

Reminded daily,
I return to these books,
the flow charts of
pathologies and treatments.

Humbled,
that the view and discourse
of our conditions
are not all the same.

i cannot rest towards sleep,
not insomnia nature,
but this mind's consistency
to intensively be critical
of cared units to measure.

continuing as each
tactile, contractile, dactyl pressing
against this chest contesting
examination against my inclination
to worry a hurried
yet impede succession
to assess these abscesses
within
weaving teaming thoughts
defensive to the x and o drawn
so that i may anticipate
tomorrow's entailed
beauty

wait, a change in tone
a drop in breath
rest, retired, and displaced
movement of consciousness
no longer anxious

gravity has provided
a pillowed valley
to allow this face
to rest this monocle
towards the dimly lit
neon green
pass the hour 4
am I divulging
my emotions
to conceived
mirror
dramatic animated images

alas spirits
lifted
time
remains
cycling
pedaling
from
unneeded
wakes
of waves
so
I may
dream

evening cooled the air
before school.
a solemn thought
and what was felt,
challenged
the feats of futbol
to traversed
hop-scotches

the teacher calls:

child why have you ran there ?

"looking through
the crevices"

"playing hide and seek"

trembling with elation
- where the light
shines through
your smile

signal,
your limber hands
hope through your words
a tone of resilience
your mother once spoke.

Prince,
you are found
return now
along the port line's
seas
she sees you now

Lessening my steps, walking in the breath of my own soul
Faded, guided by her voice a midst the night’s artic scowl

Absence of calming pulses to divert my alert listening
But Weakened, cold, yet continuing
All that follows is, being glad to see you smiling

Forgetting about you, why can’t I just be your friend
There is too much to account, too much to loose by this trend

I don’t’ know where this may end before I come to mind
That someone, elsewhere by serendipity will be my godsend

Inside you know, and though that maybe so
I cannot say nor imply because you are not clear also

Being beside another is enough to relate to another
But being at their side in there time of need, and somber
Is enough to consign emotion in wanting to be their significant other

High tension awakened to nothing
But the serene twilight of a cascading dawn
Reserved in this constant position
With water to Ice and its brisk measure martyred

Against the radiance despite falling lunar rays
Here all drunken sunken minds reside
Having clear vision, despite misfortune’s distortions

The emotion of nature and imitations thereof
Evident in just cause and no coincidence from above
Gaze along the window and listen to these streams
For vigilance, clouds pass no longer in our dreams

There is complexity in the heart
Despite even the matters that soon depart
Where it is blind, there is lightened distress
Dear fallen dove, what hath you thought and digress
Hypocrisy to judge, for empty I am as well
Even with waters that shield have divided as well
Backs turned, thinking clearly you suppose your not well
Even to ears familiar you have fears; very well
Camaraderie binds the past but how much more shall it last
With hatchets above grounds of varying cast
There is nothing, silences perhaps
Sadly why I comprehend, sad why I cannot share your joy
Sad that you’re blinded merely by only mishaps
Of the anchors of distracted affections; humanities ploy

We wish that all our troubles would subside,
And let the wind change the wave of the tide.
But there, our thoughts glamour in sun rays
Falling reflections and crashing these bays.

Listening attentively, a whistling screech
The clamoring tuning to this breech;
That caused the waterfalls from these caverns
Sheltered crevices of depth and humility

Falling all so effortless to answer these calls,
That wants nothing less than it all.
A request not even a personal petition
That lay waste to all conditions.

Here at last, this night and every time
I cannot fall to slumber here
Where days of summer pass time
Insomniac to tomorrow’s fears.

I just want peace in all of our minds
Without the helix of the progressive bind
A want less satisfaction with no expectation
But to see one another with no deviation  

Duality perpetuates in our eyes’ receptivity
To transcend from it is to venture away from this reality.

A Full dose of chemotherapy symptoms:
Hair loss, loss of appetite, and pale completion

Antibiotics, Steroids,
And intravenous fluids
I may get sick in addition to this

Cancer.

The doctor I ask
What interests you in this specialty?
“The research of a cell that believes
In the fictional concept of immortality”

Yet my mortality is in question here:

And yet here, I sleep, rest and lay down
Almost stationary to this ever moving world
That supposedly when I stop
I can then move again to rise or fall
An almost witty comparative analysis
If I even dared to displace myself
From this bed

So I continue this rigor of treatment
Despite the horrid regurgitations that follow
And I grow continually weaker when supposedly

A cell divided is a sign of being alive

Where is this immortality this doctor speaks of?

Because I am afraid
For I do not understand

Life breathing life everlasting,

A soporific effect

Matters we do not understand
Are eternally received by preserving
Ourselves in words

Keep looking back,
when I can’t move forward, I keep looking back.

The connection with how I speak
and how the words that follow
seem to not catch the dancing
and listeners that follow.

The crowd around this tribal
semi-circle hasn’t taken
the feathered trials
fitted on their fathers minds.

Whether they choose
not to embrace or to me disgrace
by forgetting their past
it familiarizes my identity.

But familiar curvatures
form complete circles,
overlapping or simply touching
we are all siblings of each other’s hold.

Whether the sun provides
more warmth here
or my skin appears pure, we still remain
within the same wars of existence.

I echo respect, you understand
because it simply translates.
Continue on, remember re-verse.
Keeping shades.

Positions block the light,
rather corner views of the night.

Keep looking back,
when I can’t move forward, I keep looking back.

Looking back
is a turning point
to remembering,
almost glancing
past the light that already passed.

An internal discourse
that had it measures
harmoniusly in concert
of leads and follows.

These days require inspiration
for revelation to follow elation.
An adaptation solely for the
consciousness.

When you criticize
the recesses of your mind,
you come to realize
the limitations
that remind your fears.

Simple acceptance,
suppression
or worse a change
in direction
isnt the resolve
but rather continue.
Let hope adhere.

time dwindles,
like the whistling
annoyance of the morning
alarm clock
upon the now perturbed
ear drum.

a thumping sound
now sums up these tones and hands
us passing sands again.

hopefully gaining
through the contours
of this mind,

a broad to narrow
perspective of what reminds
me of these times.

Overcast evening mixed with air and rain
Foreboding hairs rising, thoughts in vein
Words a loss at most to the gloss of this face
Strikingly beautiful to the beholder to trace

And it comes to this,
To care once more
With armor and all,
Flocking feathers fallen a more

There heeds no guide
No aide
To why we do
What our mind forbade

Discipline furthers its stretch
This man and his juvenile mind a mesh
Simply a child seeking a maternal figure
In every woman, a trigger

Trickling on the sides of faces
Are theses outlines for lost graces
Mixed ways in dismays from everyday
Departure to fool into rapture today

This is how it revolves to the middle
Month where a year comes,
To so little
A refreshment course to the choices
Taken hold by desirable answers

Trying to figure not to procure
An imminent ache to secure

I really don’t want to fall
Towards the asphalt and all
That possibly I may understand
And nevertheless not hold a hand
The meanings regardless
The tone of it alone is senseless
Here we taste our bitterness
In thought of submissiveness
Retracting from this internal argument
I let my hold, lead to recovered moments
To see anew in spirits passing by
Allowing no judgments given by eye
Then it recovers from reason
That the insolence of my attention
Was skewed by heart of this lesson
That once we love, we ponder of that only one
No matter the moral to our background
There are always breaks to get around
To make amends to sincere intentions
For where the day ends we continue on
Walking alongside following the tension
Of our will and moral detention
The irony that we all befall
Is she causes it all
Grief when I hear from you,
Stress when you need me.
So it would be natural to think
You’re the downfall of me.
But yet you tell me and show me always otherwise.
You just don't know that I take you
For who you are, when you’re with me
Because you are yourself

Can not distinguish my breaths
Why I take in these threats
That takes grasp
Of my fair air
That clears my internal affairs

And though it seems my anguish
Is lost to the polished scheme
I have ingrained within my eyes
I am reminded again and again

In abstract I contract a line
That fools the absolute
To the Fin
Only finding the rules dilute
To a drinker of truth
Facing the sky

With the clouded justification
To find association
In the tone
Of the polarities
Sincerities
To merge into
Middle linear ties

Overtaken by java sages
Virally programmed by ages
Of systematic impulses,
All false
The need, strength, and balance
Is a mediator
That is an open instigator

Over and moved closer
Holding on
I might lose her
Not in my own right,
Of emotional plight
But a fight fought long
Within each song
Fused for this muse
Doing wrong to my mind
All along, is this poet wrong?

Have I exposed it all?
That there is nothing left
To transpose to proses
Or is this a step
I have yet to step on to

These words these mere
Entendres in parallel to
My daily tears for fears
Vice viscerally seared

Repeatedly, incessantly
To attempt to understand
That Socratic it is, to withstand
The frantic resolve, to accept
That there is something
In nothing

I need to resist writing metaphorically
with literary techniques and motifs
that occur only for my mind.
I once wrote openly with clear contexts
with rhythmic verses that showed
thoughts kept in line.
That is all lost now.
Writing use to be my medium, my expose
but i've learned beyond this middle line that Icarus
swayed in the sun, fluttering grasping his own wings
that were never part of himself.
He could have used "Red Bull" , but that is just
another false marketing campaign to ourselves;
to utilize tools that already preexist within us all.
The world that we live in is filled with stimuli
that our senses get overloaded and we focus
on what we see in front, as opposed to our front
sour facades, and alternative personas
just so that we can conform; forming
molds that we have no choice but to breath in.Cough!
There is a reason why I wrote in symbols
broken sentence structures, because i did not want to be vulnerable.
To speak this mind, not of mind, not for mind,
but to remindme of emotions, experiences, and realizations.
What we keep inside is our pandora
our deep hope cluttered, underneath,
covered with all that confusionthat we reflect to others.
So, I failed to resist to write in metaphor
but i spoke my mind, i spoke in passion
yet remained somewhat clearand ascertained something to adhere.
Who I am to myself.

truth is impartial to realities.
a human condition set
to diverge honorable practicality
to serve one's comfortfor selfish satisfactions.
yes, a liar is unbranched,
rooted in tasted knowledge
and is self-absorbed,
subject contradicted,
by one's mindmerely fooling
the present.the problem, the dynamic of fact and fiction.
a friction that has perpetuated personal attention
to realize that human intentions are reciprocal
;in protection from the truth within us
with the weakness we try not to expose.

You sit there
devout in your intentions,
Deeply sure
that the path laid
is the path surely taken.

Frozen in my views
merely
kneeling
before alters of instituted obstacles,
feeling, pleading with myself
that what is set before me
is a fork with a middle way
taking my own trident
to absolve into paganistic
views of this world
where each objective
has a celestial voice

my comforts are
within knowing
and not what I try to understand

This is my mind thwarting fear
but repeatedly left in complacency.
Giving answers to my own questions
While my self interrogation
Never has been set in this time.

But always focused on the future
With a pessimistic view of the world

So that I can be secure
not be shocked, and surprised

To prevent myself to be mechanized
To form thoughts away from obscurity
So that I will not compulsively lie to sleep

I need to be difficult, and serious.

I need to be a person that gives them self
Hardships, days that put others to quickly raised flags
Because for some unexplainable reason, easiness, failure, and simply being stationary
Never has kept me defeated, but has provided me success.

I know myself but not well, but enough to realize my faults, and actions

My mind is always thinking, moving, caring, reasoning, and limiting itself
Because I am still simply a human trying to use sense in this world

We forget we are human;
We lay frozen in these carnal desires
We need to melt away
And be mindful of our winters

held up legitimate excuses
fully executing unfocused choices
returning, backspacing this type
same sentences, of looking back
from rough drafts, rewriting
keeping words behind images
spoken actions restricted glances

still looking to find my essence
as repeated waves came tides
contrived to dissolve so to solve
all secured within tiers of a castle,
granulations formed from memory

write so to form, a type of sand
tangible untangled tactility
measured through these hands
we can only grasp these times

some people have no regard for privacy
i joke with other people
because they admit to their foibles and follies
in public domains and by doing so
i respect them
that is how comedy persists to exist

but to make falsehood, lie,
and most importantly not admit to such;
i cannot accept this from people despite the nature of human beings
some individuals are simply insolent
because they themselves
have not had a single piece
of gratification in their lives

Glaring through the window,
Focusing on circling flies,
While having laid an impression with this body,
Have my hours promised this past,
and all before,
Blocking these eyes from thinking at all.

These closets with stacked belongings kept for certain,
The lights remain on even throughout the night,

they flicker at times !

these blinds almost shield this daylight,
allowing reflections to emit,

do my words have substance ?
does my soul care to admit