I am blessed

As a descendent

From early human.

Values and its meaning

Changes from person to the person

Life, though makes me feel confident

My instincts are guided scripts

Implanted to deal with

what value really is

Of course everyone have their own instinct

That makes me

Am nothing but, me.

I have returned
To the land of the living
After all life have perished
To see all traces of existence
Time and space, gravity and love
Without the restriction of our limited vision
To see the imprints of our touch and impressions
Laid out in front of me in its infinite and eternal presence
Every interaction, attraction, mutual and unrequited
Left its mark, like the trails of a snail
Now visible to me in perfect clarity

I could have ran to the beginning
And walked through every moment to the end
Seen life for what it truly was for all creations

Yet, all I wanted
Coming back at the end of time
When time cease to exist
When every being, every moment
Will never again cease to exist or change
Was to find that thread
Between us
And see whether it was connected
At the very moment of sight
When I saw you for the very first time
And ever since
Tugged and pulled
At every hint of longing
Transforming me with sculpting pain and tears
And tore away my fears

And see that it was never just my hopeful Imaginations and creations of the mind
That the threads of every twinge
Every pull of my soul
Had been there
Always there
Still there
True and real
Between every you and me

My family hangs on loose threads.

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

Am a fiddle at heart
Am a riddle at thought

Rumbling past
Bumbling future

It’s all part of a story

Penned by regular

Choices
Sacrifices
Motions
Emotions
Events

What not?

End of the story

You strike like a bowling ball

And am one of the pins

Either a strike or a spare

Your victory is inevitable

But, I still challenge you for the next round