I.
When I was born,
I was dead
In her womb I was bloodless.
It was Saturday,
and the moon is full.

II.
Summer nights
became a desert
the child in me
was a gatekeeper.
All that was left,
'til now I was dead.

III.
I grew apart
and my heart has swollen
'tis now I found I was fallen
oh, my heart bleeds for me
when will I not be forsaken?

IV.
Hymn.
It was tingling
the music of a bell
is my time here short?
The child in me grew apart.
All that was left,
gone by a swift of a wind.

V.
Tomorrow might be
the last breath I breathe
'til now I was dead
in the hearse I am alive.

By the striking of the moon, gone of me was the child in her womb.

My feet wandered into
the serene shoreline
while the strong waves
hushed my cacophonic mind —
I strummed my fingers and gripped
tightly of my conch.
While my lips brushed around
its spiral shell — as I whispered my wishes
and blow through,
suddenly an angel
flew by and swiveled —
his wings burning.

From the heavens, he falls
right through the deserted sea.
My naked feet began to push
its life towards him —
he lies on the sand and his wings burning through.
Silhouettes of him rang on my mind;
gashes of water fell
through my eyes —
and whilst even the silence
grieved for us.
His burning wings calmed the strong winds —
the winter sea began to calm its strident waves
as I let myself lie awake beside him.

I closed my eyes and the replicas
of myself flashed through like a
candescent wind —
and there I saw a woman
lying in the hospital bed.
The sun mirroring the artificial light
through the windowpane;
the man standing beside her
had his wings folded —
and his eyes cold as the winter
and the woman dying in her
tranquil sleep.

The trees had fallen its last leaves,
and the winter is coming at dawn.
The man covered my eyes and I was at the
winter sea again —
“Mona, you will die in winter.”

And I woke up.
It was September.

The whistle of the winds
and the scattered leaves gathering
into the air breeze of November
while the music of the cricket's song
lull her away into sleep.

For tomorrow's morning, uncertain.
Her soft silky hair danced on the waves
of the trees;
and its leaves singing with the wood nymphs —
the road is busy with the cars passing
and the pavement's slipping.

“The future is ours.”
She said —
with her chest heaved.
The small droplets of the rain
felt by her skin
as she closed her eyes,
the meaning of her vision
stuck through her.

While tomorrow's may be uncertain —
but the future is hers alone.
Roaring thunders woke her
into a moment of bliss.
The once starless sky
is now filled with the trinkets
of destiny's creation —
maybe in this night alone,
her wishes came true.

That the future is hers alone.

If vivid dreams can flee away
in a moment of time,
if the future is unknown
in the dreamer's heart,
and if an untitled song
gets finished —
that must be the calling
of the void's voice.

If a song turns into poetry
if an art turns into a priceless liberty
and if the voice of the void —
finds a dreamer's dream
slipping away,
then mornings
can break away.

If falling means
getting up —
if drowning means
dying —
and if dreaming
means hoping —
then an untitled song
will soon have its name.

“You know why am I always scared? It's because when you feel happy at the exact moment, that is when empty endings occur.” He breathlessly spoke in the air.

Endings, happiness, and emptiness. Those three words I hated. It haunted me. I was gazing upon it, and the next words written on the wall was, "I must survive it." It was a familiar one. I traced every letter written on it, and it was like remembering how he wrote it, and how he fell upon it.

He could've survived it.
If it wasn't for me.

Scattered petals were surrounding me. The wheezing winds from the windowsills embracing my already gnawing body—my eyes wandered the old house. My eyes fixated, on the dried drops of blood, on the empty sofa he always sits in. Where we always tell each other's carpe diem.

If I didn't leave, will I make a difference?
If I didn't let the monsters win, will I be able to stay?

“Do you want to know the answer?” An old lady patted me on the back.
It sent chills down my spine. Her voice sounded as cold and barren.

“Who are you?” My voice began to shake. I took two steps backward, but she keeps drawing nigh. Who is she?

“Do you want to know the answer? She repeated. How did she found out?
“I don't know what you are talking about!” Then, I ran in the other direction.

I woke up and it was on the 5th of May when mornings are cold and grey. I flinched when I saw his back, asleep. “I was just dreaming,” I whispered. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Just when I was about to open it, he groaned and stood.

“J-Jack?” I called him. My raspy voice echoed throughout the room, but he didn't even budge and walked out of the room. I followed him and my hands reached him, yet it passed through him. Just what in the world is happening?

I tried several times to touch him and even cupped his face, but I was a ghost passing through his body, and the sudden thought flashed through my mind that I remembered the old lady.
“What did you do?!” I called her, but no one is answering. What am I suppose to do?

The rush of waters coming from the faucet overwhelmed my ears and I saw him lying in the bathtub—his eyes were bloodshot red and his wrist was full of scars; his body weight fell and his face's swollen.

I sat beside him and rummaged his hair, even though I could not hold him, yet my coldness reached through him that he flinched and met my eyes.

“Shh... I am here, I am here.” I whispered. He closed his eyes and dipped his face in the bathtub. Adrenaline rushed through me, and my screams were almost a whisper. I threw out the chair, and that caught his attention.

I ran and found a marker lying in the table. I went back and wrote “Helen is here” on the wall. I peered at his direction and saw his stunned expression.

“He-Helen?” His hoarse voice sent chills down my spine. I wrote “Yes” on the wall and sat beside him.  “Don't do it again, Jack” I wrote again.

Then, I woke up.

The first thing I saw was the old lady sitting at the edge of my bed. She was intently staring that it pierced through my core. Then, her expression changed—it was now a soft one, and she flashed a genuine smile.

“You did great, Helen. You must find the answer, yourself.” She said and vanished.

I looked up and it was on the 5th of May again. And Jack was walking up to the door—I followed him until he passed by the Bridge of Adelaine. If I stop Jack when he was drowning himself, then I must find a way to stop his death.

The old lady may be giving me chances to change the course of Jack's past. To save him from dying on the 5th of May.
But the problem was, there were no walls or things I can use to stop him. How will I save Jack?

“His mind...” The old lady's voice echoed through my mind.

His mind... What about that? I asked her again, but she didn't answer.

Yes, his mind! Panic registered through me when he already was standing on the other side of the bridge and I closed my eyes and found his still mind—yet so dangerous.

“Jack, stop it!” I screamed. But he wasn't listening.
“I said stop it!” I repeated but he wasn't listening.
Then I remembered something—something in the past we both held on to whenever we have bad days.

“You know why am I always scared? It is because when you feel happy at the exact moment, that is when empty endings occur.” I spoke, my voice cracking.

His face flashed a hint of surprise and looked around. Then he saw me, he saw through me.

“Helen?”

It was on the 5th of May again. I immediately roamed around and saw myself passing through the walls of this empty hospital. I found myself looking for his room, and I opened the door.
He was lying there with IV fluids inserted into one of his veins.

“Helen...” He called out.

“I'm here,” I whispered, and cupped his face. He smiled and looked at me.

“You can see me?” I added.

“Yes,” He replied.

“You know, I will always be your hero. Remember that. I will always save you, Jack.” Then I kissed his forehead.

“This is why I don't want to be happy, I know you will leave me again, Helen.” He spoke in silence.

“Then I will always come out of the grave, to save you then.” I grinned, and we both laughed.

I.

She was there
wearing her favorite sweater
while she was hoping
to get her life —
beaten like a raw egg
then I made this song,
about Helena.

II.

“So long and goodnight,
So long and goodnight.”
I hummed,
gently touching her cold face
when the chrysanthemums
she holds
brought me back to her
and the rain pours.
Her unkempt hair —
her cold swollen hands
her eyes as dead
as the digging hearse
rushes
unto her,
I made this song.

III.

“When the star falls,
I'll be holding on tonight
if I stay, would it make a difference?
Well, carry on don't sleep
hear me and stay.”
I strum in the strings of
yarns weaving
the ropes of life
attached — while she dances
barefoot and reckless.
'Til I come running
and her faint breath, gone.

IV.

This is the last verse of the song.
When slowly the sun
yet to rise again,
piercing through
her damp soul,
I sang the last piece
and wore a vintage smile,
after her last fainting breath —
she heard the song.
Helena sold the pieces of her soul.

My eyes were traipsing all across the room, my irked nose was lined with all its corroded details and the charred, foul smell of blood. Where my hands are firmly cradled and the sky is peeking through the cracked window. Am I hopeless?

"Just call my name on the edge of the night," My ears wobbled to the melancholy raspy voice of a man telling me before he faded away. I remember him grinning and caressing the tip of my nose, yet I couldn't open my pursed lips. "Call me and I'll run to you," His voice erupted throughout the house. It was like his plump lips were meeting my ears' tips."I really can't!" I whispered. You are too far, Sky.

I let my eyes wander through their blurry sight through the starless horizon from which the eclipse was striding into the darkness. The moon is serenading the hurricane, and the gusts of wind whistle and spin, blowing chill bumps through my bones.

Rapidly, a familiar sensation surged through my body—my eyes fixed on a spot where I was in the center of the forest, where the flowers were blooming as I sauntered by. I traced my fingertips and remembered that he pulled the flower and ended up dead on his bare fingers.

"You know that whatever you touch, it dies?" A faint chuckle I let out. He gazes his eyes into mine, penetrating through my soul, allowing me to drown in his mirror-less eyes. giving me a new illusion of myself, securing me in a sacred paradise. The thunder roared like a thirsty lion. He held my hand, and slowly, he vanished and burned into grey ashes.

Where the sky contains a fraction of truth and the heavens have got a hold of time, where the underworld brings chaos and chaos grants powers to mortals. Where he is Sky, eventually named after Death. Where he is mine and there in him lies the future. Where neither gods nor goddesses can intervene. where I could no longer call him "Sky." Only his lingering parts could I hang on to. I closed my eyes and waited for the downpours of the rain. When there is chaos, there is still time. When questions remain unanswered, there is the sky, awaiting your call. When there is existence, there's him, Death. We flew in the sky and he dropped into the lake of lies, and that's when I knew the truth: the gift of chaos is the heavenly realms. And so is the past. And then, there, I locked my eyes with him and, like a phoenix, my soul was greedy for freedom and him, the death of the mirror-less sky.

The present.

The future.

The memories.

The loss.

Unknown souls reside
In the most deserted places,
Such as the minds of the Parallel
And the hearts that bear the rebellion,
The agonizing shadows that stalk
Behind the familiar faces.

Where the souls whom we do not know
Find places in the garden-like Arcady,
Its rustic magnificence and endless streams.
The whitest marbles that mirror the true form
Of one's self,
The sculptures of liberty and honor,
Enchanted voices of wood nymphs
That serenade every frightened heart.

The harmonious hands clasping together,
Souls traded their bodies for a one-way ticket;
This is where the last train stops.

The mind seeks for the Parallel
When a desire craves;
It reaches down to the deepest pit
From where the tree reaches down to the lowest ground.
Should its own branches reach the tallest clouds?

Behind the rushing blood
Of spirits being awakened,
Should the deserted soul
Stride its feet in the garden of Arcady?

There he goes
scraping his last worn-out scars
gripping the tune of
his harsh breathing
could've been if he was
the brave man
he ever showed.

Harmonized with his rusty guitar
sang an unfamiliar lullaby
hummed in different tones,
as he silently uttered a profanity
and there goes him,
let out a clamor
no one will ever heed.

As his visions turned blurry,
the fussing rasps of his voice
can only be grasped
by the mist of death
and there he goes,
sang a weeping lullaby
beside him was the woman
who so abode with eternal chaos.

And then together, a wayfarer
amid the longing dawn,
the sun shall never rise again.
From the tune of the brave man,
he quieted the chattering misery of
the goddess of the night.

Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.

The seawater's saltiness and the tears from the sky passed through my nostrils—the abiding flavor of its bitterness came to me in a halt. Its rushing waves splattered all around. My white floral dress, covered in blood—and its aroma; the aroma of my crimson blood thirst me to sip more.

“Helena, Hel- Helena!” A familiar voice lulled me to wake up. It woke me to a familiar dream I could not forget—the way it keeps pulling me back; it is my cord of weakness. Its cacophony—the reverie; is all I could remember.

A rattling noise distracted me from the trance of my thoughts—we passed by trees standing strong, winds tugging out our hairs—while there played, ‘The Ghost of You’ hang there to lull us in peace; while the quiet August's night disturbs me from within.

“Helbound Town” As we strode across the gateway sign of Helbound, the chills of the night disturbed my senses—summer is about to end, as the month of September lies beneath the thin.
An enormous ancient house welcomed us and the old graveyard greeted me, where the deceased buried me in millions of 'hellos.'

“Come on in.” My Dad yelled when he opened the door. The creaking sound creeps into my bones. As the new Blacksmith House greeted us once again with antique furniture and the aroma of its damp and mildew odor; this is the new home of the Blacksmith.

“Listen, children. All of you go to sleep, and we'll drive down the Town tomorrow.” Dad called out, and we peeped into our new rooms. I pass by my window and the faint sound of the rustling leaves caught me in a swift, “Someone is out there” I whispered and peeked into the narrow window, as I move closer—my phone rang.

“Why are you calling in the middle of the night?!” I frowned when Steph wasn't talking. It's all just jarring sounds and the hushed voices. As I was about to end it, the rustling leaves and the hissing winds startled me. “W-what is this?” I peeked again, and a shadow stalked me from behind the tall tree.

“Hello. Welcome to my territory.” The shadow revealed himself—it was a familiar face. I am sure I met him somewhere; somewhere I couldn't remember.

“Who's this?!” I hissed. The man chuckled and let out a sigh. “Your savior.” He smiled. He's only meters away from my cracked window.

“Don't joke around. You don't know who you're messing with. Also, why do you have my Friend's number?!” I shouted. I couldn't stop myself from cursing and hissing.

He's getting on my nerves.

“Come on. It's just me, don't you remember?” He asked.

“What are you talking about? I don't know you!” I was about to end the call when he threw a rock and it landed on the cracked side of my window.

“H-how dare y-you!? What are you doing? Get out!” The veins on my neck were visible when I stopped myself from screaming so loud. How could this guy!

It was the sound of his genuine laugh that buzzed my ears. It was almost a gentle whisper that hissed in the bone-chilling of the Midnight.

“Goodnight. I will see you tomorrow. They are already waiting for you, Helena.” Then he disappeared in just a swift blink of an eye. I didn't even ask for his name.

There's a part of me that longs for his embrace. A part of me that wants him to be my sanctuary.

We drove past the quiet road of Helbound and went out to see the entire part of the Town. The people welcomed us with pairs of eyes scrutinizing our every move. The children in the street stopped midway and stared at us like we are new things strode past them.

The Town that was once lively and rambling on the narrow part of town was gawking at us—there is something in their eyes that brought danger inside me. Again, a familiar sense—a hidden trance where my mind couldn't remember.

“Come here.” The woman called in a dull monotone. We ignored the pairs of every eye we meet as we enter the small gray and grim of an old restaurant.

“They are just like that when they see new people that come here.” The woman added. My Mom and Dad looked at each other and ushered my two sisters and me to come closer.

“Stay here.” My mom whispered. The woman smirked and the moment I caught her eyes, there was something in her I smell...

Fear was to be seen in her dilated pupils.

“Casper, hurry!” The woman shouted at the back of the room. And there, the guy I talked to last night was here. In front of me. “Here you are” He mouthed and smiled.

The woman then went back and in just a blink of an eye, there is blood splattered everywhere. The horror in my eyes went away and it transforms into a hungry wolf.

I can't... I can't eat them!

“Eat. Eat you witch!” The woman screamed so loud. The cacophony of the surroundings and the muffled screams of people came all in once.

What is happening? What am I? Who am I?

I let out a loud cry—enough for all to hear. Enough for all to see. Then I laughed.

You caught me there.

In just a keen move, Casper was the only one alive.

The seawater's saltiness and the tears from the sky passed through my nostrils—the abiding flavor of its bitterness came to me in a halt. Its rushing waves splattered all around. My white floral dress, covered in blood—and its aroma; the aroma of my crimson blood thirst me to sip more.

I woke up to the rushing waves and the call of the sea. Casper was here—he smiled and reached for my hands.

“I want to eat more.” I pleaded.

“There's a family that wants to adopt you. Now's the chance.” He grinned and kissed my forehead.

“They're waiting for you, Helena. Let's go to their place.” He whispered and chased on the waves. I let out a slight smile and wiped the dried drops of blood.

“I can't wait to meet them.”

The stillness
of your calm mind
as you sit down
in front of me — where the Tower
stand before us.

Silence dealt with us.

Your burning palms
faced the Sunny
time in the afternoon
of August's lively scene.

No curiosities, your suffering remained
without feelings — you were an oppressed piece
made from littered paintings.

Silence remained veiled.

The iridescent eyes
of yours
attracted me to a hall
full of covered specks of dust
like dawn without Light.

I shelved my next destination
for me to stride inside
your brown eyes — its color embraced me to another
painting — from where your field exists.

Scattered blossoms as you lay there.

I listened to you humming
the simple chorus
swung me into the Invisible Station.
The train caught me, then
in Metro — the Tower
sets against us.

No surprises, I did nothing.
The song finished his words.

You stood — left me
but your iridescent eyes
will remain.

“Silence, this is my final fit.”

I.

Sleeping Siren,
sing me to sleep
a lovely maiden
help me shift,
in my daydreams
to hear his song — that slips away from his rims.

II.

Sleeping Siren,
wake your spirit
for only your song
can force me to waltz
in his daydreams — oh, to encounter him there!
lying down beneath the
shadowy sun
created by fogs;
gentle, like a cushion!
with his lips forging into a beam
oh, to visit him, Daydreaming Siren — wake up.

III.

“Oh, to be bewitched with magic filled
with air in love so keen.
Oh, to engross with fairies
twirling like a bathe bird.
Oh, wonderful, mysterious, mythical,
I am the
Daydreaming Siren,
hiss in the Waters
for I will respond.

IV.

I let myself sink into the broad ocean
and let the coolness rub my skin
for I am about to have him
the lullaby in my trance.
I locked my eyes
as I let the fairies
tune with their uncanny wand;
“Hope so bright, give her request
feels so strong, grant her a peck
love so keen, serenade her to hallucinate.

V.

Sing me to sleep.
I will greet you in the Parallel
of my dreams bent by air
in love, so eager.
Await me there
for I will slumber a little without slowing
later I will see you
when I awake
'Tis now the time
of Spring
fare thee,
ne'er forget me.

For I will close my eyes without a slight dulling.

I.
The Angel becomes fallen
from where he spreads down
there by followed —
with soothing lullabies
in delicate light,
the Fairy appears.

II.
He arouses to the music
of her wings —
the myth
gains to life.
The Boy blinked twice
from where he lingers down,
there the Fairy appears.

III.
The rush of waters
calm the essence of the Boy
when the Fairy extended her grip,
he thus was lured
into enchantment —
the particular illusion
he was keen to understand.

IV.
Chirping birds,
rattling noise
squirrels chattering —
the refrain sounded
in the mind
when the rapidness
of one's way of heart-beat's
tingle from within.

V.
Into one's perceiving
from where he flew all over the place
in the grips of a fairy,
as she bears power,
wreak havoc,
so that the tale alone lies
in books:
to be learned by children.

VI.
Until he who belongs to
melted ashes
of charisma and grace —
again he greets her
the winged melody
buzz in his tastes
a shooting star
hanging upon an idle request
from where he emits
his longing voice,
there the Fairy appears.

VII.
The Angel becomes settled
the Fairy comes,
in the stream where they clash
as the sky bore his pining,
the illusion appeared to life.

Deep into the midnight
below the gleaming star,
I stepped on the running wall — the creation of Nirvana,
lights.

Heaven's an enigma
a forged between the steely and the curve
the star's collision and the minor parts
have the iciest heart — a grain of Truth.

Prophesy the future,
shuffle the sheets
and let them look at
your eyes — does it carry the dullest truth?
Or a blundered ignorance?

Does the dawn of the newborns
form the hallowed mysteries
of heaven's plea?
Into the Unborn
where the sky holds a mere certainty.

You climb long — to match the moon's faint
and the beaming sunlight;
where the galaxy
was just as narrow
as the strange fragments
of what we see?

Then if beneath us was the roaring storm,
will it expose the unborn?
Will the dream catch us
when we fall asleep?

Into the future.

Darkness.

It was a surly heart
that I received through
the facades of this place
where I could no longer
feel the intensity
or the port thins
in Hummingbird.

The pavement.

From where I reach
the households that were lively
as it is,
now is just a muffled
lullaby, not wanting to be heard.

For once, I knew,
we are the shambles
we let them in
we let them see
until now we follow
I could not find the dimmer.

The light.

Has gone through
the running walls of this world
the pit was so deep
ghosts passing
tireless and ageless
lost for once again.

Ghosts.

From where they are reborn
into the blackness
where the void remains
an imagination
a fantasy where the minds
tackle for the parallel,
from which they waver and perish,
an ambush.

Singularity.

Now I drift and ramble
till I picked up the ticking second
falling from the top
from when it lost me,
'tis now the moment to be created again.
When a soul is fallen,
that is when he is found.

Vigorous colors.

Memories of warmth colors
bringing back the place
of yearning,
back then is only a muffled lullaby,
now is a peeking peekaboo!
If uniqueness as it is
and that later than mortal
is now a vital colors
glowing as it is —
in the pavement of Hummingbird.

I was glancing sideways when my eyes caught you, I told to myself, “You
have your picks” you were so perfect like a classic portrait displayed in
a museum, a frail mirror revived at its subtlest; thus are driven
ravishing, a portrait lost in the sea.

That's when I found you, just someone I acknowledge. We stroll past each other, thought of
something, typical. Little did I realize, the man so stiff, when he sits wearing some thick eyeglasses; a strange passion, that's when I grasped, I will write you. And when I can't hit any key when I sing, in Minor D I run. You were a brooding light, a faint kiss of sweet melody ringing in my piano keys. When I sing, you sit there in silence and I speak the words and you listen to the tone.

For the first time, a man I know nothing at all, just a civil smile you put on to some pictures, I noticed you were 'something', seen. In nights where no stars appearing, when the moon was sheltering behind the mists, when the midnight so deep appeals bleaker than I expected — isn't it shameful that I figure out of how alluring that grin of yours, while I look at myself, and see,

that we will never cut across the same route, to reach through something remarkable? That I feel this electricity inside, while yours are just functioning?

The Infirmity of Life, I guess.

Distinct shades of hues — stood the same
as the pitch-black dusk
takes place into the steel cage,
it dooms her life — a tale of desolation.

A series of the cynic
seeking through — peeking eyes
hushed lips,
here comes despair.

Painted words
by her — another form of scars
wrestled and won
of newness
and fondness
of her secrets
and her sins — are like faces
from a covered haze.

Shredded reputation — stop!
“It will never settle.”
She will strike once again
her vulnerability — remains concealed:
it must preserve her.

“It will never end.”
As she sips from the twists of her
remorse,
though she buries
her facade.

“End her.”
Hailed by her,
while she seeks for
another shade of colors — thus lead her
of another yet
the flicker of the sun.

“It will work out, I believe so.”

I woke up from my stupor
of thoughts
where I bathe from the floods
of my own thinking and logic,
heard his knocking
heart and sang
just the lullaby,
merged with a stroke
of something,

I couldn't avoid
it wears me out
but I can't stand myself
from winding and running
into the land
where I can watch him
and see him
and hold him
and embrace him.

His divine voice
woke me up from my stupor
of thoughts
of my retired song
of my regrets
of my dying requests.

Oh, to discover him
near and down below —
oh, to meet him
and trace his palms
wriggling to get
my face — my eyes,
and feel him in me.

Following me
in another portal of my realm —
were his sole sound
I could tune in
and familiarize;
in the celestial music of his heart,
I can pick up my way back.

The sky holds its truth — as I stomped my feet
and let my cold eyes burn
into the windowpane
I realized,
they have my mysteries.

Shadows were occurring through,
conscious of my becoming —
demons were shrieking,
“Hail! Laud be to the desert god!”
I couldn't keep up anymore.

Dusts were stirring;
spider's web untangling,
they have my secrets.

Yet they stood hushed.

I did it again, did I?
All my sins showing
like a clog stink
I perceive,
the shadows screamed,
“Laud be to the desert god.”

Her face formed from the wetness of my sins,
showing me
of whom I have:
grow into and to be gone.

Hail you, hail you.

The windowpane
drew me back
to its torture,
begone now,
for I have descended from grace.

I am now a fallen angel.
“Begone now, hail you.”
They cried.

The sky holds its truth — all my secrets been dropped long,
but since then, they howled,
resurfaced from the deep hole.

I am frightened.
Begone now,
begone.

Where are you?

I am in the midst. Of nowhere and of mislaid sanity. I am frightened of who I am becoming into, plunged in Iliad.

Where the sequence of misfits and my torments combined, I am crucially breaking my existence. Broken, who am I pursuing? sparkling eyes, igniting palms they were showing tricks on me.

They were here watching me. They outgrow wings like a slipped angel descended from grace. Their eyes glittering into mine. Slowing ticking blasts, so I'd still have time to endure every bleeding and the state of my miserable hovel.

Where are you?

I am in the midst. Of being lost and being formed. I am in the pilgrim of my dreams — a wayfarer in the desert.

“Where the shore clashes and the stallion whimper at the sprinkle's coolness, I will get you there.”

I am a sightseer on the spot — where the faint could not be obtained as I stray and travel, I knew this is who I am developing into.

To discover you in the forsaken as a wayfarer in strange seasons. A tourist ahead of time, a butterfly in the coming age.

A warrior in the cage, a threat to them the shadows in the deceased.

“Where the shore clashes and the stallion whimper at the sprinkle's coolness, I will find you there.”

To meet you is to be lost.
To be created is to be miserable.
Being whole is to be broken.

And there, I found you.

You are the snowflake
in the buoyant afternoon
where you fade away still,
when I look at you,
pure like a waterfall.

It crashes and I can grapple the sound,
the continuous wave where
the titanic lies down with its
thousand sweet ghosts dancing into waltz
and where the water's steep falls
deep down and deep
and beneath.

You are the snowflake
in the crisp of December
where you turn into a delicate sixfold symmetry.

Where you were as remarkable as white
and bright like the bustling car rides and bus stops
where even the coldness can be someone's warmth.

In every season there's you,
different from time to time
still, when I look at you,
you are as graceful, majestic
for the weather to cast its rain.
Forecast, bluer than the usual;

And when I look at you,
you will always be
the snowflake that melts
in the sunny afternoon
and a delicate sixfold symmetry
in the winter of December.

When they leave a mark,
she grew —
she rose out of grief;
even outgrew some hidden scars,
find some glorious jams — out of scars, she later discovered, a shady gem.

When they leave a mark,
she grew —
she bred out of bare sounds;
she then understood the relevance
of empty promises — its words and its absence
the mere thought that grows with it.

She then leaves a scar;
some strain,
some courses of her daily life — some parts of her,
even when she did not become a part of theirs.

She then rose —
when they leave a mark.

In just a fleck of dust,
conceived in flesh and blood —
there we are,
breathing in harmony;
even with empty songs
out of noble destruction.

Crickets sang for mate — nature dance with waves — people convey with phrases,
still with their tones,
we create masterpieces.

Singing with those compositions — flowing of patterns; dry our bones,
with just a speckle of dust — it makes us.

In just a particle of grime and clay;

Formed in flesh and blood — in melodies,
thyself is a treasure.
Thyself is a masterpiece.

She was wobbling and sailing with the strokes—she was just bucking in all the dreads
and uncertainties—she was just staring and letting
the cold flood,
brush her naked feet.

The radiance that persists in her core—yet discovering that missing part;
Where is it?
Where can she meet it?
It was the same twists
that drove her alive
on the cushions
that piles around her feet—
it was meaningless
that she couldn't
wouldn't
understand—the notion of
her harsh sigh—the suffocating uncertainty that remains; that stays—circulating another form of pleasure,
in her spirit.

That is the curse at night—it drifts,
it resounds,
like a futile, annoying clock—she couldn't eradicate.

The night has begun —
she dashed into the crest
of the woods
where the branches would clank together,
forming an echo of suspiciousness —
silence cannot be suppressed.

Through the drifting moon — the stars tracking her every stride
into the broad peak of the unknown,
somehow she can inhale in the black.

“Hello, which pathway will you pick up?
Can I tour with you?

She cried out.

“I don't want to be alone.”

The trees floated on the flicker of the breeze — granting her the direction
that she desires — somehow,
she realizes she is not alone.

They said goodbyes
are the hardest but for me,
it was the easiest.

It was a farewell
I crave it arose a long time ago
it was a farewell I hoped
for in the moon
and even in the unseen shooting stars.

Eternal farewell to you
my guilt — I ached to erase
my hands — I yearned to wash
my past — that lingers in every midnight.

Eternal farewell to you.

There she was
Walking in the light
Disguised as an angel
Near the lake
Of shining waters
While her hair
Smells like an old flower
In the moonlight

There she was
Peeking through your dreams
While you close your eyes
In her lullabies

There she was
Singing in the light
Like an ocean's roar
In the night

Close your eyes
She's now leaving
In the quiet sound
Of the night

Close your eyes
She's an angel in disguise.

Beyond words
beyond feelings
beyond music
beyond, you.

Soaking into words
seemed sillier than plunging into water
the lake in the twinkling moonlight.

Beyond words
that I could imagine
the artistry in your eyes
to tell you
how wonderful
the flowers
the lush pastures
the wild greenflies
of the forest.

Beyond feelings
the untouchable kisses
of the moonlight
beaming into the pond
How spectacular?
To look at the wet lilies
lying there it found its tranquility.

Beyond music
the harmony of the crickets
the birds' songs moaning
into the midnight
finding some nests
to have rest
beauty isn't the perfect phrase
that drives it sufficiency
to understand its hymns.

Beyond you
peering at the dear sky
the blueness of your existence
makes it heavier
to lose the sight
of the awe-struck
lips that I couldn't pick up
what you were telling.

My heart-beat echoing yours
it was beyond paint
beyond melodies
of how I wish to define the place
the feelings,
the sonnets,
and you.

Memoirs can be abandoned,
her empty heart
is what drives her strong
just like what she covers,
in her face.

Ghosts of their shadows
spelled out in her grip
call upon them like a spirit
that desires to be summoned.

She was standing amid the ghost town,
there she was closing her eyes
stomach churning,
when she recognized him.

They were glaring at each other
who will triumph?
It was that vie
of whom should move first, “I still love you”

He spoke with a smirk —
her thoughts are like the battleground
“Should I trust him?”
She called for her shadow,
only the beeping noise
of the cricket's songs
can be drawn in the area.
She grappled to resist the cracks
frightened, it will shower like raindrops.

He threw that stifle laugh
a natural one she couldn't ignore
he attempts to contain
the rushing vessels
that forced them to be one.

They tried to settle in the present
left the Ghost Town
of their oppressed minds
imprisoned
the aged allure
at the back of their heads.

Maybe this way will work,
and they don't have to fight anymore.

Stars are meant to find us — it follows our every step
together with the strings attached;
we were meant for more.

Stars are the happiest when it is night,
moon's shadow
makes it more
beautiful than ever.

I shivered when you touched my hair — I drew invisible maps
in your palm,
this is our little secret.

If the seas separated us
and crowd's demeaning noise — these stars were meant to find us,
these maps will draw you near to me.

Stars are the happiest when it is night,
moon's shadow
makes it more
beautiful than ever.

Your hands brushed mine — for the last time
cherishing a few moments — every minute is important.

I kissed your forehead and my eyelids closed — while your body vanishes in front of me — until it left me hugging myself in the crisp night of December.

Alone in this dear night
promising me an empty tomorrow — maybe it will lead me to something hopeful.

Stars are the happiest when it is night,
moon's shadow
makes it more
beautiful than ever.

I turned around — only my footsteps can break the silence — into the last bitter night of December.
These maps will bring you to me.

Until we meet again.

Hello again, midnight thoughts — hello to your companion
agony and woe;
hello to you, Kalinaw
my serenity.

The hasty torrent hailed me
of loneliness
of doubt
of uncertainty
yet it wasn't till midnight
it was ten o'clock.

I was glancing at the sky — the conspicuous moon was the only view in the dreary night of
fresh October
and the vapors appearing — I rubbed my breast,
it seemed bare and crushed in spirit
I was scribbling then — inside my head.

Even though
even if — I don't know
I don't even know
where to turn,
where to find —
Kalinaw,
you are the placid,
the Supreme Being.

When all else is a turmoil — a chaos
a between and between
a two term
seized with fear of the unknown.

You are all I could hold on to
Kalinaw — serenity
calm and peaceful.

Hello again midnight thoughts
I was here outside — peering at the sky
it wasn't blue
it wasn't apt
but it was bleak
for the night has occurred.

Shifting figures from ten to eleven
an hour away before you show up, then — why are you so soon?
That is why I called her — “Kalinaw, I need you.”

Here she comes
oasis amid the departed night — where thoughts are thirsty
they strike the place like minds empty;
where no one is serene.

Hello then, for the last time — midnight thoughts
at last,
it drifted from eleven to twelve
now is the moment — to call her again.

“Kalinaw, he was here again.”

The ocean is calling
all we did was paint
another love story untold,
another beginning
that ends with you and me.

Another goodbye.

It was a night of April
where the sea knew every lie
you told and I was sitting by the seashore
alone.
The ocean keeps calling,
should I go with them?

It was the last week of April
where revelations were good
like a broken record
ringing in my ears —
I couldn't sing anymore.

I waited till May
but even shadows of you
couldn't be seen, the moon is brighter
that I reminisce your crooked smile
that I miss having by my side.

I could not calm the waves
I hummed our song
you were the missing piece
the sea is finding, where are you?

It was a fool of me
to stick around and linger
I hope for your presence
I even wish
to the falling star
I couldn't miss wishing you'd be here.

You can tell me everything
all the secrets
all the misery
all the past and the present
I'd still listen
to your melodies
coming from your guitar —
it keeps getting darker.


That I couldn't see the ocean
I couldn't hear its call — where are you?
The summer is almost over.

The ocean is calling me
into the wide and dark
mystery.
I am falling in its trap,
will you not come and save me?

The ocean, the moon, the starry night,
it was all I remember.

May.
I painted this last piece,
I peered around the room and saw you
observing such magnificent art.

I smiled,
it was the last memory of us, I even laugh
for I compared you to every piece
hanging around the room.
You told me,
"I'm different than the rest, even I don't stand out,"
you smiled and there,
the ocean called me to wake up.

To wake up
wake up.
Wake
Up.

We were lying on the seaside
where shells clank and make music to our ears
and the ocean who calls unto me.

I leaned towards your way,
all I can look at was
stardust in your eyes —
even words couldn't justify.

Love was here beside me
hanging for another rising
the night is luminous
the ocean is whistling.

Waves, the soothing sound
that creates melodies, I hummed
and you strummed your guitar.

“The moon is fascinating,”
You said and I laughed,
your eyes twinkled
like sparks upon sparks
and I called you,
love.

We were both giggling
the echo of it was lulling.
The pieces I am finding
at last, it was now beside me.

“You know, I will always bring you here,”
You whispered
like you were so certain — it secured my wall
like it will never fall.

So, I was stuck with a smile — it was a fresh March
and our affection was like summer
it never ends until spring.

“Hey, look, the moon's beautiful tonight.” He said to the woman lying beside him.

By the lake, at two in the dawn. He flips the rock, and it docked in the water—creating an enormous sound to crush the ghostly silence, where they rest amid the fallen woods and the hidden lake.

He chuckled and turned to her side and smiled.

“You are such a beauty, Delilah.” He pinches her cheeks and scoured her silky black hair.

The fireflies that prowl around lit up the whole area. They wandered and buzzed into the quietness of the forest. The shadows of the blue lake mirrored the pastel of the moon.

It was such a captivating scene for them both.

But a tear escapes her lips, and he dried it with his palm. “You will be all right in time, Delilah.” He reassured her.

There she was, lying in silence. Eyes are cold and dead. He gazes from where Delilah was so engrossed in to—there he closed his eyelids; hoping the spirit would just drift and fade. She was in her bare feet, with blood splattered across her dress woven in a white long garment; a smile painted—loneliness was caught in a glimpse of her.
Shadowed by the blue lake—the moon's lighting out her face.

“Please, let me go.” She pleaded and disappeared.

He turned to his side and grasped her lifeless body—her bones are digging up the outside—her eyes are swollen and blood dried her lips.

His cracking voice was the only music the black allowed to play in the deafening cacophony of trees wavering—this is where he met Delilah, a beauty in the storm. But her time was short-lived—yet with joy.

He danced with her amid the buzzing fireflies and the lake's clear water, while the sirens beneath were singing for them.

“Now, you have discovered the elegance of the moon. I can now let you go.” He mourned in silence and pecked her on the forehead.

“Goodbye, Delilah. The moon's beautiful tonight.”

You must look back,
all the things in this world will last only for a moment
do you not remember me?
My one and only.

Morie, I know how it feels like
to perish with your own hands,
will you endure for me?
Or will you live for your selfish acts?
Morie, you must remember me.

My eyes were glued by the way
you stroll your naked feet
down that hollow path,
I could not penetrate my emotions
I buried beneath the tenders of this black forest,
your face was glowing  like it was sun-kissed.

Your lips curving into a flawless beam,
it was filtered with the hue of a poached tomato
your fists were of terrified by what it discovers
the smell of your honeycomb fragrance
stuck through my nostrils and your soft brown silk hair
sways into your naked back,
oh, what a sweet body I am yearning to taste.

I am dying to be with you
how I long to run away with you
how I craved of you lying beside me
I am reckless to know,
I am in great remorse.

You were searching around,
your emerald eyes pierce into mine
the way it forced me to meet you somewhere
in another realm where I am no Death, and
you are no Prisoner of the dead.

Until your soft voice let out an awful cry,
Morie, do you not want me?

The distant thump of your footsteps
taking you away from me,
brought me back to my reverie.
Why are you doing this?

You ran as swift as you can
go around in an endless loop
you can't escape me, you can't hide forever.

Morie, how does it feel like
to perish with your own hands?

I am here to bring you back
of your lost memories
of your lost soul wandering
yet you rose from the dead — hid under
the rainbow cloud
the clock spending until the last dime,
traveling hands will decide when it's time.

Memento mori
remember your death,
it was destiny that called
you are to be mine.

Morie, remember me
I am Death, I will go after you
the time ticks now
hide before I catch you.