I grew up watching my parents reduce themselves to their bassist.
Oops, that's a typo:
They are not musicians.
Debasement, so crass.
Humiliation on full blast.
But I guess it's a fairly common thing to dread family vacations.

My mom can't take the hint.
She can't tell when we're disinterested.
My dad talks a bunch of crazy **** despite who might be listening.

There's an unspoken comraderie amongst us siblings.
We're all in this together.
We fight our inherited,
unwanted,
self-destructive tendencies.
When I lose a battle I can always count on them to make me feel better.

Two have found ther wings.
They flew away from this place.
One soars high,
but I fear the other found himself another cage.

It's okay, I think.
I mean, I think he'll be okay.
As for us remaining two,
we're slowly making our way.
Our way out, is what I mean.
It's what I meant to say.

This nest hasn't been kept very warm,
but I guess it's still a home.
With two featherless,
flightless birds to deal with;
I'm glad I didn't have to go it alone.

Falling in love isn't always enough.
There are other things to take into account.
Like, "Where is he going?" and "Where has she been?"
"Is this someone I can trust?"

In the silence between what actually gets said,
I imagine the thought bubbles over their head.
Taking stabs at guessing what text lies within.
"Can you keep a secret?"

I make believe they're all blank;
that there's nothing above that quiet stare.
Dismiss all the feelings with one swift thought:
"She doesn't even care."

Ink these panels with callous strokes.
Forced together in a frame we did not choose.
This is the part where I confess my love.
This is the one where you cut me loose.

Fill in all those speech bubbles
with admissions of our lack of worth.
I'm not cut out to be a superhero.
I had to hear it from your mouth first.

Swimming in swirls.
Dancing with smoke trails.
Hung up on these girls
with their golden locks and pigtails.

Curl me around your finger.
Strung out on different pills.
Let's leave this place together
and fulfill those greater thrills.

Hear the music echo
in those ears that still ring.
Move your body to the rhythm.
I want to hear you sing.

Sweet melody.
Released free and clear.
Tonight we are in harmony,
but tomorrow I'm not here.

TIME seconds, minutes, to hours the embasador of death,

You can't anticipate how close the two really lie death is for certain but very few want to die

Let's hold hands and together we will welcome the two, head right into the eye of the storm like the brave men do

Then look him in the eye and cheat him like he's cheated others taking our relatives and separating us from our lovers

All these years you've enjoyed my strife your weakness is to let Jesus christ in my life

It's a joy to see u finally run in fear from the fact my savior Jesus christ is here tears of joy transformed from tears of fear future was blurry but now it's clear

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

'BITE deep and wide, O Axe, the tree!
What doth thy bold voice promise me?'

'I promise thee all joyous things
That furnish forth the lives of kings;

'For every silver ringing blow
Cities and palaces shall grow.'

'Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree!
Tell wider prophecies to me.'

'When rust hath gnawed me deep and red.
A nation strong shall lift his head.

'His crown the very heavens shall smite,
Aeons shall build him in his might.'

'Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree!
Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy!'

There are always new places
For our feet, always
Another,
Wearing out the shoes,
The veins, and soles.
I learned to love the world
From your waist down.
There is no end for travel.

We travel and travel more.
The buses fill, the jeepneys,
And the planes. The trains fill,
Terribly fill. Boracay fills.
And what a tedious postcard
This is,

When the whole point
Of the matter is this: that
We are bound, headed, destined
To someplace else,
Boundless, vast
And everlasting--
A non-lifetime--

Which pretty much answers
Why love does not return.
I think that love could,
But must not return.
And I will carry you on,
You,
On my back,
Just to prove it.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

O thou did ask why should I write of thee
in words not from thy mouth but from thine eyes,
and in their way they ask'd dost thou see me
as thou hast writ as if to catechize
upon the very substance of thy form
and that true deceit doth itself deceive,
like Nature doth herself with springtime warm
and all responds as though 'twere summer's eve.
Yet all is true but yet all is not so
for each to each hath in itself a part,
for past-gone Winter lends April his snow,
to him her flow'rs presaging Spring to start.
So with these lines thou dost lend of thyself
so lies the truth deceit deceives itself.