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Jan 2023 · 247
Her
Brian Ong Jan 2023
Her
a moment from the past
enshrined in the present;
an ode to the future.
a pose, as if a still photograph that ignites…
and emerges as a light in my heart.

Her,
with a smile—
a look that stays etched, enshrined perhaps
within me.

captured by a glance.
elusive, etched, enshrined,
left permanent by happenstance.

stay,
this moment of mine.
remain a postcard on a wall
to be stared upon
when life takes the longer road
or diverts
or drifts away from comfort…

and suddenly
i’m reminded that all is well,
and all will remain well.
ily auds.
Aug 2020 · 232
2 Minutes
Brian Ong Aug 2020
Stretching an arm to his bedside table,
he clasps an object with his hand.
He raises it up, and with a click of a button
a source of light forces his pupils to constrict.
The light in the form of his cellphone screen read:

                        4:17 A.M.
                   Friday, May 13

On the bottom half of the screen was nothing (0 new text messages) but a picture of three smiling figures in a foreign land.
And in one swift motion he flicks his wrist—
the phone makes a thud, ten feet away.
There was no use for it
when hundreds of his texts and calls were answered by the wind.

It may or may not have been four days since the incident that caused water from a faucet to seep through his eyes. His face now pressed against a blanket,
a scream pierces through the four corners of the bedroom.

The faucet water now found its way to his lungs
as he huffed and puffed. And huffed. And puffed.
As to what happened to his parents, he neither knew nor hoped to know.

4:19 A.M. It’s once again time to try counting sheep.
Not inspired by true events.
Aug 2020 · 735
Blissful Ignorance
Brian Ong Aug 2020
Ding! . . . Ding! . . .
A man locks eyes with an artificial light
that shows a world clouded in darkness. Gleaming with empty words and false promises, the light is shut.
“Not now,” he says, as he drifts of into the night.

Ding! . . . Ding! . . .
The man springs from his bed, chasing the light.
Yet his calloused hands go stiff—
he backs away with a shake of the head.
“I’m not ready,” he says, as he eyeballs a dusky mirror reflecting on days that have long gone.

Ding! . . . Ding! . . .
This time, he merely acknowledged the light—
the light that enamored him once, maybe twice.
Yet this time, he simply glanced
as it died in the twilight.
“Why bother?” he says, as he dreams of days that once were.
my intent was that light = cellphone, but it could be up to your interpretation. :)
Jun 2019 · 735
Compass
Brian Ong Jun 2019
A pair, north and south
Whose love cancels each one’s doubts
Find their way, always
a haiku
5-7-5
Feb 2019 · 407
You.
Brian Ong Feb 2019
An abundance of
people. And yet I found
you. A laugh so free and
sincere. A smile that lights up my
world. Life with you has been filled with
joy. Problems and stress disappear when I am with
you. Oh, how the world would have been so so
different. Without you in it, my life would surely be worse
off. Because you, you make the world glow with your
light. You radiate an energy that always seems to
ignite. You brighten up my day, every day,
love. Thank you, for always being with
me. For making the bad days
better. For being who you
are. For everything, thank
you.
words per sentence:
4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4
Aug 2018 · 5.8k
The Cleaner
Brian Ong Aug 2018
Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you  
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.


We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.


Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
done for class

— The End —