the spoils of ego
have created the vile
and the grasps of men's malevolence
will raise the hairs on the fallen arm
the snaking graze bringing diaphragms to a chill
and the eye of lost men reflecting to the churning sky
brimming with echos of lost contraptions in time
the pockets of dream viewers upon heart's decline
and the whisper of one final, sweet bliss
the clamor of doubt sunk like wounded icicles
the gleam of one's bone under lampshade glow
and the lingering touch of medallion thrones
the greed of man washes over ashore
upon the silhouetted fingers of children tomorrow
and the affection of what's promised will wander
soon to the forages of tabooed swelling yonder
simmering in the ashes broken into fragments
eroded into sands of time to slip through palms
and as the day spin on its axis
twisting men's gaze to crunch into manifesting feats
to brink a think that they must all abide
to the fists of iron and crunch of another bone
how they dare treat another soul
in such fruitless fashion
and ambition lacking in direction
their virtues of moral must stand on a compass
without it, they cease to be
pinned to a brick
because their heads are too thick
and don't for a second think
that they are able to keep
the walls fortified, for it too will sink
and they shall fall to their knees
if they refuse to listen
and keep their shiny egos
shaved to a comfortable narrow

please
never lose your magnificence

looking down upon us
a thousand wrinkles etched within
minds like deserts
earning for what is lost
and thoughts down too cold
to their time of older generations
their old teeth chastise our ways
the acceptance for gays
the respect of transsexuals
the admiration for their bravery
they are perfect in every way
brace for the hurt
words from the those
we look up to
the vinyl minds remain
as neglected as deserts
they remain secluded, a shell of ****
in rejection to adolescence spirit
they think so rude
we are just more vocal
more determined  
finding our place
in this cluster-**** we call society  
don't pretend
don't for a second
convince shallow arrays
merely blurry shadows
that you know what's best for us
we don't really know things for ourselves
still trying to figure out
if two plus two is really four
but only not to live
in past of your memories
you want to cast into ourselves
in a world of three dimensions
incoherently converted to six
don't try to influence our spirits
we are bolder than you think
beliefs are not blasphemy
stop comparing things to
the things used to be
its a new age
you are just caught
drifting taught on a string
behind a band wagon
riding for the stars
I'm tired and sick
of you telling me
what to do
your existence  
like plaster
new, mint condition
the skies are blue
yet as years take toll
you fall and crumble
in lack of ability
to adapt to new fertility
you will be replaced
and my biggest concern
is that I would become
just like you

maybe those were the days
of aching hearts and sweaty palms
the uneasiness etched in our expressions
as we plaster our happiness on our quilted sleeves
the crunch of chips in the height of the night
so dark the stars would shine so bright,
of half-glimpsed eyes shot in the crowd
and our feet running, galloping
tile after tile in the blank of a hall
of swollen eyes from crying the night before
clutching our chests as the ache refuses to subside
of our lips pressed into thin lines,
grown tired from pressing against
the syllables of our desires,
maybe these are the days
in moments of catch phrases
and any excuse to pick an eye lash
to blow a wish, possibly making all of it
to be forever true,
yet life goes on and our bones grow stronger
as our plans sets us apart a bit longer
but the earth is spinning in circles and circles,
maybe the best of our days are only ahead of us
going in circles and circles

a sculpturing group
that is what we are
millennials and second guessers
a shape shifting cluster
with no real answers
we don't do what we are told
we think only what we behold
we sculpt,
not annihilate

smell of faint, brisk summer morning
baby blue tennis shoes
running puddles of water
glimpses of smooth obsidian
on the slathered pavement,
black umbrella in one hand
a brewed cup of coffee,
unleavened with sweetness of cream
like the way the rain drizzles
without the kindness of a meadow stream
splash, the puddles ripple
and the rain creates apparent wrinkles
in the air and wet scenes
forged into a single continuity
which curves at the edges,
and swells in the appendages,
the body of a rainy summer morning
aching from long night's fast,
weeping like the endeavors
of single stroke of solitude,
the joy and vibrant yellows
ellipsed by the buffering grey morn

that is what I do best
to slip away
from anyone's grasp*

my gaze revered
only for
*the forward momentum

if I slip away*
will someone notice
*before it is too late

There are some things
Too beautiful
To simply
Never
Let
Go

shrewdly depicted to hide the gracious
a wormhole warped as collectible chances
a star beaming its glowing white light
to the people whose feet have gone without sight
live and sink to repeat the prodigy
we tearful acids have plowed the ****
lashes dewed of jewels, from once
a medium embraced to fabric of joy
stumble and tumble
hobble on a knee
keep the chins held aloof
so the water won't recede
basket cases seething to sheathe
the one thing they know
that each one of them
are born to speak for all
and as this poem shrinks
words gone fewer
a cycle this is
of birth
death,
start over

The moon sways
Across the beaten sky,
And lonely it goes
The day has come by
And to show what it become
Light shafts upon the ground
Gently it glimmers
And my oh my the dark withers
With gnarls of curse
And hoots tearing its verse
Wonders of the younger
May have traveled to slumber
If cure the curious
Brimming of imagination
Yes they are reckless
Yet they capture the moment
Hidden wonders within thy flourish
Shall chance
Doubtless of others' chorus  
When the moon retires  
And the sun's pierce
Is taken to its knees  
The dark will soon expire
But not in vain it will flee
Because the hours  
Will skid across the
Icing sleek sky
Twittering and chirping
As blink of an eye
A powder of dust
The old will now
Rest in peace
As the youth's endless time
Starts to tick
Soon to rest, forever
In the dirt

simply breathing
like the white washed hills
of notorious syllables
spilling, crying like crows
over the gushing riversides
and the spatter of rain,
the soft trickle of fog
scouring the trees under
a blanket of white wash walls,
prancing concrete roads
paved black like mirrors
down into the yonder
and the bristling chirps,
the crying youngsters
of spring awakening,
she greets with that
of a thundering storm

this if from a girl
who once thought
her feet could stop
climbing to the roof
she didn’t think
she needed to fall
from it anymore
but then she realized
she could fly
into the oblivion
no matter all the ****
people would throw
in her direction

How far will
We grow
Before we
Are fated
To part?

what is there to cling, clinging to the woven threads
in my nightmarish dreams, those dreams scattered
into the rosebushes and gushing ponds
they are set ablaze, and not even the scent can mask
the terrifying gaze, and the pond ices over
so that knuckles crackle where water stood before
so I set down in a downward spiral, into a massive hole
set under the ***** of my feet, I cling onto the fabrics
of this nightmarish dream, hoping that its reality
can unfold before, I say, before the ground gives away
and I'm ****** into this bottomless pit
Then with a shout I scramble, hair flying like double
shiny and marvelous, flowing and luscious
so that each glint from the fiery gaze sets wonder
and my knees rattle like the most terrifying thunder
yet into the inexplicable yonder, they propel me with
their creaking joints, like gravel's laughter
and with that laughter my feet find ground
and with that laughter light erupts with a dash
crackling and sizzling, beaming and booming
across the oily black sky of my nightmarish dream
yet here, this light was of a marvelous light
like the gush of courage and a momentous dosage
pushing and pulling of the sweetest melody
in my own vast, vast night sky

a boy,
a man
some guy,
on a street corner
maybe with
iridescent eyes
or another
in library corners
walking past
a girl, red lipstick
gleaming shoes
or short chopped hair
and a pair of leather boots
all of us, an evolving constellation
with connected stars
yet no means
to every truly
touch and
sing

a fleeting stark night, pasted colors and
brittle nosies cascading off the cobblestone streets
a beautiful awning where rain jewels
and warm, yellow ochre glow blossoms
from the store window, the puddles swirl
in their gleeful song, and the city
escalates to a breathing, clattering, makeshift
of mankind

there upon a skip, upon ancient stone
and the rhythm of clicking heels,
abruptly whisked with the shout of walkers,
there, upon an awning night
of brisk rain air and pasted colors
there, next to the shop window
with the raindrops shining like bejeweled webs
a chance meeting, nervous eyes waning
like a long note on a violin,
cheeks flushed and lips lush
a chance meeting
where two
may begin

carry memories,
like the dirt underneath
fingernails

unpainted and hidden not,
carry scars like that
of roses  

and sing unforgivingly,
sing like mountains
pointed

at no one

when I was born*
I can't recall being still
for all I have ever wanted
was to repaint
*the world

Prologue
a cavern grinning with flashes of teeth
to smile with those white things,
my love, my heart cannot help but seep
into the soft, soft soil it burrows down
and stretches its roots so that petals
and floral pigments radiate with heat
my love, I was brought to my knees
and the skies a turmoil of gray,
when you told me I couldn't be
yours to keep that day,
and so the days wore by
and my hands rummaged with
paradox melodies,
cracked with paint and sores
wondering at how I possible can
feel alone

Prologue
the reminiscent of your laughter
crooked gently in the stern of your chin
and the corners of your eyes
kissing the ends of your cheeks,
the fly of words a blushing fury
of the most beautiful syllables,
softly pecking at the strings
which stitched the folds of my heart
when I thought it would tear me apart,
to always exist along your side,
but to never have your hands folded around mine

Present**
the echo of the past still travels steadfast
and the petals which have bloomed in contrast
have drunk the glory while it last,
yet, my love, the sun is sinking fast
and the cold winter is creeping to steal
what was mine stolen by the flickering fireside,
connections burrowed deeper and the seed
grown into a magnificent willow in breathtaking strife
the jargon infused of salt, ridden from the shore
feels like a home where the prints from the sand
won't be blown away,
at night the waves play a silent game
with the tug of the moon and the succulent
kisses trickling in the gorgeous fray,
now by your side there is no where else
I would rather be,
kindling the fire to keep the permafrost
from creeping into your sheets
my friend, my dear, dear friend
heed my advice and believe,
scream at the sky with vigor and pulsing life
share the love you carry
from the mountainous caverns of your chest
and brighten the galaxy in everyone's night sky
like how you have done the same
for me
and soon, very soon, my dear friend,
as tragic as time endures unforeseen,
we would have to our part ways
so as long as we can,
lets hold our hands like how it used to be,
just like how it is now,
like how it is now

Title (optional)
could it really be that simple
to wake up one spring morning
with streaming golden sunlight
through a window pane

or to open our eyes
to a shower of cascading snowflakes
twinkling with delicacies
authentic like temperamental daises
the waft of lavender laughter
sweeping through the crack of a door

can we really decide one day
at a five o'clock traffic jam
or a forty five minute tram
even while listening to the pound of our hearts
as we jog along a stand of trees
or the comfort of one's warmth
have our breaths' taken away
at the sight of the mahogany sunlit
settling time of treacherous days

could it really be that easy
to decide what we would want to be
to entitle our own rightful marrow
and to know that even
as the second ticks on now
that there is that optional

and for one's life to be like a poem
there does not always have to be a title
there is no one else more qualified to give it
but by the heart of the individual

so give it second
or a day
or a lifetime
there doesn't have to be a label
one can have one
only if one wants to

it is not bad
nor is it good
it is what it truly is
wrought by simplicity and virtue
people do have chances
and people are not
categorized into laminated labels
we all think to be true
like the glossy illustrations
of pop magazines
contaminated by the idea
that people are
or aren't

people are, in fact
whoever
they want to be
and they can write their own poem
how ever they wish
help to ease
into modern hostility

just wait for their fingers
to reach for the pen
and to touch the precious ink
they have all been waiting
to see what they have
always known to be

cup my heart*
with dawn's pink down

ease my stomach
with pine's brisk aroma

heal my sores
*with water's gentle touch

maybe today
maybe not tomorrow
I slather my skin
with adjectives of guile
and shrink at mention
of those emerald greens

those uniform teeth
whimsical saturation
and tessellates of wrinkles
where the armor have gone soft

a spray of fingers
which deft in shadow
tinkering with the time
as it narrows in capsules

the fruits have blurred
and the glimmer marginalized
sustain this eloquent guild
in the heart of Matilda

the lush greenery springing from the canal,
thick vines twisting and rooting
into the cobblestone and cement,
elephant-sized green leaves hovering
and its spiraling vines snaking across
the expanse of the slippery, slippery rock
from the canal water chants happily,
bubbling and choppy, reminiscing
of its mountainous origin, carrying
pure water and gracious elements
of its northern origin

That moment when
The shards of the sun
Drift like embers
And catch fire,
Igniting the earth
With its brilliance,
Momentarily pulling
Those who are buried
Out of their trance