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Feb 2014 · 567
By Burning Candles
Byongho Lee Feb 2014
Whisper and stare at the dance before you
Flickering by the dawn of the hazy dusk
Hold faith close as one holds a candle

The shadows only surround your mind
If you let it run wild with chaos
Whisper and stare at the dance before you

They scream and they scowl like a crow
Ripping through prey during its chilly hunt
Hold faith close as one holds a candle

One reaches out and opens its maw
As another follows suit, then another, then another
Whisper and stare at the dance before you

You fall and drop the warmth of the hearth
Its tepid wax slowly seeping into the void
Hold faith close as one holds a candle

The hope might be gone, but you must brave through
Igniting the candle as you reach the end of the song
Whisper and stare at the dance before you

The trail is ending, the shadows relentless
But a small flicker bring in memories
Memories of laughter, of love, or passion
No need to whisper, but stare
At the Candle’s dance before you
As faith holds you close
Feb 2014 · 536
Magic of Teachers
Byongho Lee Feb 2014
Warning! Like spells, teachers come in various ways
Everyone of them attempts to offer clarity in a specific path
However, enchantments come in good and bad

The Proxy Spell, for a newcomer put to the test
It applies a sense of connection with students through modern means
However, it's youthfulness might fail

The Blinding Curse, often used on the old
It causes one to lose touch with society and its needs
Please do not change any requirements on this spell, for it’s worked in the past
So it clearly must work now

The Sleeping Drought, just a trip to Cloud Nine
You will often forget where you used this, or who you used it on
Forgettable after you leave your chamber
Or will you?

The Tamer’s Drink, for one who controls too much
Asks of student-lead discussions, but fills the time themselves
Too many ingredients may lead to exploding results

Finally, the Passion Fruit, as natural as the morning dew
One gives a teacher this if they have touched the heart
It makes you work hard to reap its fruit, but the rewards are great
Inspiring through his or her art
You can tell when to give this fruit depending on how many minions they have

Please sign here for these five valuable spells. Education is the key to magic.
Minions - Teacher's Assistants
Feb 2014 · 791
Cepheus
Byongho Lee Feb 2014
Glistening by the comets like a flurry of hail in a frozen song
Shining like the steel of a warrior from Rome
Traveling through chains of stars and moons
Following a lion, a scale, and a winged-horse towards home

The lion is brave, known for its fury and rage
Burning through suns before each eclipse
Leo’s pride, strength, and forceful way of life
Makes enemies cower with a single roar from its lips

The scale emits a chord of peace and war
Both sides beginning with neither side ending
Neutral in its claims, but Libra promises this:
Balance holds worlds without space ever rending

The winged-horse is patient; smart, but wise
The land where it grazes is Elysium’s wish
To understand and to be understood
Pegasus rises from the shadow abyss

One road he must follow and only one gate to cross
With eternal life, time rises or falls like rain
He chooses no predetermined path
And all through space, knows of Cepheus’s reign
Mar 2013 · 474
Silent No More
Byongho Lee Mar 2013
I stood by waiting for my turn. I stood and I opened my mouth.
There was silence
I had prepared for my tale and prepared for a while.
I had endured more pain that anyone can realize.
There was still silence
I was about to start, when someone stopped me.
He told me that I had no say.
He told me that I had no right.
I was silent
I listened to him speak, about how nobody should listen to me.
I watched as he got up and left.
Then everyone else started to leave.
And I myself, had walked out last.
Bewildered, I was silent
But why? Why was I not allowed to speak?
What made it so I should be oppressed?
Why does my opinion be second-handed, while another's is prime.  
I ask myself this and realize that it is I.
If I cannot stand for my voice, then I should not have a voice at all
I will not be silent.
Feb 2013 · 1.5k
Scapegoat
Byongho Lee Feb 2013
It is a natural instinct to care for yourself
before others. To hear things you want, to see things
you want, and to even believe the things you want

What does that make someone who cares for you
before himself. To listen to your problems, to see your pain, and
to believe the lies and exaggerations you tell

When he has a problem, why do you run?
Why do you shy from the person who cares for you?
Why is it, when his demons appear, you are the one watching him burn?
Why must he brave this burden alone, to wither in your ashes?

What does that make him?
A slave?
A mindless creature?
A soulless shield?
A Scapegoat, nothing more.
Byongho Lee Jan 2013
Lost Purpose

My reason for doing what I do
Is slowly escaping my very essence
My mission and my reason is fading
But clear with this message:

I am a horse that’s plowed too many fields
A bird gathering food for an empty nest
A lion that cannot hunt and feed its pack
A spider weaving broken webs

A baby that has been born old
A cold sun freezing the stars
A bright man in a forgotten room
That is who we are

Lost Faith

I believed in the holy fervor  
The faith that drove me into the world
Now that faith has rejected me
Like a doll rejected by a young girl

These questions I ask leave my lips:

Who can I trust? Who will take me?
Who can see that I am One who is not whole?
I have lost purpose and now lost faith
Colorful, but still petty, like sliver and gold

Lost Sleep*

Pondering this reality has taken its toll
My eyes grow weary with each breath I take
I exhaust my resource of natural light
All I ask for is a gift; all I ask is a break

With this, I choose no path
That could guide me to find my lost treasures
But that path is right here:

I see it with irises, losing their color
I wait for my exhaustion to overwhelm me and *sigh

I wish to close my eyes and fall into slumber with an end
But my eyes stay awake, waving dreams and hopes goodbye
A three-part poem, you never know what you truely have until you lose it
Jan 2013 · 1.8k
Vulnerability
Byongho Lee Jan 2013
Is not being weak, but being open
Allowing you to become more
Than a stone shroud waiting to crumble

To talk and accept your most painful fears,
thoughts, experiences, memories, scars.
To do so, is true bravery

Is not being thought of less, but to being
willing to change, when necessary
To own those weaknesses, and purge them into strengths

So that one day, you can help others
Find a place where the only road is not so dark
Where a vulnerable heart will stand forever
Jan 2013 · 1.3k
Tale of a Storyteller
Byongho Lee Jan 2013
I have a great story to tell

It all starts with a boy, young and bright
His family was poor, with three other mouths to feed
He never stopped dreaming, and writing, and reading
Until he found himself the words to plant a Dream Seed

Now what is a Dream Seed you ask?

It is conjured from our deepest desires
Our greatest thoughts, our greatest belief
But like a plant, a Dream Seed can wither
From our greatest pain, our greatest grief

Now back to the story

His Seed contained one single dream
To become famous and to be well known
He left that night, a burden to his parents
no more, with only himself roaming alone

He tested challenges of entertainment
Braved through insult and rejection
Why was he never good enough?
Why couldn’t he reach perfection?

A stormy night, he cried to the sky
The rapid winds and frosty rain answered his call
A lone figure brought him inside
And from there, his future was unfold

Read this passage, do it as dramatic as you can

“We never had to do this Emily, we never had to leave”
“I only wanted what I thought was right.”
“Don’t leave, you can’t leave me.”
“Don’t leave me here alone in the night.”

I applaud you, that was superb

He signed within the week and ventured to his dream
The seed blossoming in ways untold
Finally he was famous, finally he was well known
His signature was sliver, and his smile was of gold

Now read this script and get into character

“I am not a creature, I am a man!”
“Why should I take this child? I shall recant!”
“He isn’t mine, throw him in the street!”
“I…I…I-I can’t.”

That wasn’t the line, read the line again

He read it again and perfection was obtained.
But something lurked underneath his satisfied soul
He was changing, was transfiguring
But why? He had reached his goal

Just pretend, don’t worry about the part

He pretended and lied to his heart
It wasn’t just the worry, he was believing
That maybe, just maybe, he had lost
Something through his deceiving

Are you alright? Do you need some water?

He looked everywhere, he knew it was there
He smashed the jar where he kept his seed
He leaped for joy and opened the lid
And cried when he saw the weeds

What does that mean? What weeds?

His dream was now corrupted, his view no longer pure
Could he ever find who he was that day?
When he had one dream and one seed
Where his choice was black or white, not grey?

What happened?

He lived his life, weeping through his parts
Silently, he mourned for his soul
He was not the same, never plant more seeds
His heart too greedy with all the gold

Now I have told you a story, now I must rest
“Excuse me sir, a boy is requesting for you.”
Not now Ari, in the morning perhaps
**“But sir, the boy has to tell you something.”
Jan 2013 · 1.6k
Chasing Train Tracks
Byongho Lee Jan 2013
I left, I ran, and I never looked back
A home is a safe place with love and light
These demons on my arms don’t agree
My parents have gone down the Train tracks

The cold steel guided me far into realms
Into skies too blue and trees too pure
I hungered for food, but food for my frozen heart
I kept traveling down the Train tracks

I stopped at a tunnel, no light I could see
The shadows were whispering, until she appeared
The girl, eyes glimmering like tears of a goddess
Told me her tale down the Train tracks

She, like me, was almost sold to horrors
Hers scars were far worse than my demons
She so left, she ran, and she never looked back
So we traveled down the Train tracks

That night we bonded, and saw the stars fall
The wolves were hunting for blood and pride
They caved us in our tunnel, our sanctuary
And I could not see light down the Train tracks

Am I still breathing? Where is she?
“I saved you, I healed you; but you cannot go in your state”
I told the kind doctor my tale and hers.
I told him I must find her down the Train tracks

I couldn’t; she was becoming a dream, I was scared
Slipping my mind like the dew on the leaves
So sweet, so blissful, my heart was warm in her hearth
I shed my tears and they went down the Train tracks

I had a goal, to find a home
I headed to a city with lights and love
Seeking a sign, seeking a hope, of anything
Other than the things down in the Train tracks

I stopped at a bar where some rich actors were eating
One, an old man, looked me in the eye
His eyes were shimmering were confusion
As if asking himself if I went down some Train tracks

My hunger grew endless, my aching made me weak
He dropped his leftovers in a bag to my startled hands
He smiled and patted my head, walking slowly like I had
Walking slowly, as if going down his own Train tracks

I looked inside the bag, and my heart shattered
My pride was lost, my judgments now pointless
I ran and tried to chase, the rain beating down upon me
Like my heart beating down underneath the Train tracks
Dec 2012 · 490
Aynn
Byongho Lee Dec 2012
I am one of few, but few is enough
To sustain our legacy, our purpose
Down generations of bonds and blood

We travel across the lush fields and jungles
The mountains are steep and the road if often rough
I am one of few, but few is enough

We teach our young, and remind the old
Our moonlight torch passing and rising with every sun
Down generations of bonds and blood

We do not seek to promote our cause, our message
Words are none other than to sound powerful or tough
I am one of few, but few is enough

The world may scorn us, may exile the pure
I hope the divine does not die with my prayer
I am one of few, but few is enough
Down generations of bonds and blood
My friend and I decided to do a random "do-not-think" type poetry and just write in under 10 minutes. It is a slight variation of a villente.
Dec 2012 · 881
Dream of Sight
Byongho Lee Dec 2012
I see everyday the same, plain sight
Noticing nothing beyond the normal, the same dim light
They see something different in me, I don’t know how
I wish and I dream of that hope right now

I can’t believe their kind words, I try
My heart feels the meaning, but my eyes see the lie
I put on glasses and lens, to increase my aspiration
They fail; I fail, believing this mutation

In some peaceful dream, the air and grass are clean
Pollution never occurs, can never reduce the land’s esteem
I long for this utopia, this reverie in my head
Instead, I raze this dream land; live the life that I had led

One day, hopefully many, if it may be
I can ignore the voice, the void, and finally be free
I will emerge from the darkness, the shadows of blight
To regain my vision, and quench the longing for this sight
This really sums up how I feel right now; I wish I were a better poet and made a better poem, but I wasn't aiming for an amazing poem, just to express my feelings.
Dec 2012 · 1.1k
Hollow Dagger
Byongho Lee Dec 2012
By: Byongho Lee & Alison Masson

Tears drip down the grey sky
A lone child walks home
Her hair, dark as the night
Sullenly does she roam

As the night turns pitch-black
A void figure appears
Cloaked in darkness and decay
Wearing a mask without fear

The specter stretches out a hand
Touching the soft, pale skin
The girl, filled with dread and despair,
Asked softly, like a violin

“What do you want?
I’m just a poor girl.”
My problems burden my shoulders
However, I cannot leave this world

Swift as a rampant blight
The hazy vision grabbed the poor girl’s hair
Darker than the devil’s fright
Escaping to his ominous lair

She wakes from a sound
A loud, repugnant tone
She was wrapped in long, white linen
Her stomach stifling a groan

Slowly, her eyes open
Slowly, see looks around
A strange place, a vacant room
With a dead body on the ground

The room, a hollow, of grey stone walls
A single ray of moon slight shown through the cracks
The castle that surrounded her, full of despair,
Cold as the blade of a murderer’s axe

The door swung open with a terrible bang
“GET UP!”  A man roared, with rage in his eyes
The startled girl could not even speak
After all she had gone through, this was her prize

He dragged her, by the hair, from her bed
And down the stairs to a candle-lit room
With braided rope, he tied her to the mantle
Engulfed in the abyss of encroaching doom

She trembled in fear as she watched the man
Tear up a floor board which then to her revealed
A box of sharpened daggers, ten in all
And at that point, her fate had been sealed

Each scream she screamed, more piercing than the last
As one after another, the knives flew from his hand
Grinning, he watched as the blood poured down
And with each of her cries, his grin grew more grand

He laughed his possessed laugh
His bellowing voice filled the vacant hall
Then he threw his final dagger
Her body, limp, on the blood-stained wall

Removing the binds that relinquished her life
The Madman hauled her with haunted haste
Making his way through a labyrinth of death
To a room that withers with waste

Thousands of skulls occupied the shelves
Uncountable organs were stocked in jars
He tore up her lifeless body, limb from limb
Then stuffed her next to petrified hearts

Dissatisfied by the crumpled form
Of a beautiful girl, now marred
He hacked off the petty head
Her stiff, pale neck forever scarred

Thrusting the head into a glass ***
Filled with water preserving her end
No amount of healing could heal her soul
No amount of life to mend

He cackled as he left the room
Remorse could never pierce his heart
He slammed the wooden door with a terrible bang
His prized collection, a gruesome piece of art

She wakes up from the distant sound
A loud, repugnant tone
Her eyes, soaking in the water,
Sullenly, she waited, alone

Her irises gleamed as she glanced around
Trying to depart her jail
Attempting to feel her fingers, or anything at all,
In terror, she began to flail

The Madman raced back into the room
With an demonic aura flickering with rage
His blazing eyes locked onto hers
Erupting acrimony exploded around her cage

“Silence!” the man roared
However, she refused to stay calm
Burning with a fury, worse than the maw of Hell
He grabbed her head with a grotesque palm

He whirled around through ripples of space
Lifting her head like a stone maul
Enjoying his twisted game
As he ****** her thrashing head at the wall

The thousands of skulls that occupied the room
Tumbled down, one by one
The madman, bewildered and bemused,
Became ever so shaken as he spun

One after another, they struck his body
Still laughter left his lips
For the thousands of skulls that rained from above him
Buried him alive as he tripped

The Madman’s body, entombed under his victims,
Forever to lie restless with his foes
Since he yielded to no guilt nor remorse
Forever shall he be sealed in his hollow
This is a gothic poem I had to write for my english class. If you noticed a difference in style, that is because my friend and I took turns writing it. I don't like writing gothic poems because I feel they are very dark, but I like the detail in gothic poems.
Dec 2012 · 1.6k
The Death of Seven
Byongho Lee Dec 2012
In a maze of endless death
Every turn is love and war
Any wall can constrict any man’s sinful neck
Life leaving his heart’s cold core

A twisted, greedy man appears,
Seeing a tangled man with a lustful expression
His eyes see the treasure, gold and bright
And is caught within a poisonous suppression  

A fierce woman soon approaches
Bitter and angry, her maw and claws sharp
Burning through the coils and gas
Falls to endless sleep with the help of a harp

A wistful child comes forth
Living in envy and through a disguise
Treads, like a thief, past the harp
To fall into the ground through his shadow’s demise

Five have failed and five faced death
So an animal consumes his way through the vines
Through the gas, harp, and trap
Only to die by it’s purposeless cries

Now a small ant rises
And slowly makes his way through the maze
He reaches a gate and opens the door
And sees a figure that brings endless raze

Who is left in this cold cruel world?
Who can become the seventh to the prize?
A god, a hot-headed braggart, reaches the gift
And loses faith through his guilt and his lies

— The End —