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Gwenth Simoy Mar 2018
I’m in love with the sound of the rain.
I’m in love with the birds’ sound of mirth
I’m in love with your voice.
And other music, that mirrors a soul.

Yet I am a destructive melody,
a tone that would ruin
your alluring harmony.
An imperfectly mixed color
with your lovely hues.

I have a paper heart,
but you are a blazing fire.
I tried embracing your warmth.
And as you grow,
my flesh starts burning out.

You are my moon,
and I am your wolf.
Sharing stares that often meet,
we clasped each other through the wind.
With my howls, swallowed by the breeze.

We have parallel worlds,
lying in the same chapter of words
yet we can never intersect ways
even across a single page.
Fated to meet, yet not destined for a love to keep.
Gwenth Simoy Mar 2018
She cuts her roses
with all those stargazers,
just to free a bit of her garden
giving thus, a space for this stranger.

She thought of him as a dainty flower
that she never regret
trimming her treasured gems.

But he’s just another pest
that ruined every ounce left
of hope in her chest.

The lively hues
are now turned into a low contrast view,
a dull realm for empty gazes
and domicile, for those fading daisies.

Yet bravery indeed is there
as her eyes shower sparkles across his face
though the stabs’ forlorn scent
grumbles in her heart of sane.

And even now that there’s nothing left with her,
she still insisted to wreck her emptiness
to give a hollow space
still for him.
Gwenth Simoy Feb 2018
Tonight,
as the moon winks
and gleams bright,
meet my gaze amid this lucid dream
as I searched the stars
for your colorful smile.

Watch me embrace the breeze
with hope it'll guide my skin
to where you shine, feeling free.

The winds tried to dry my cheeks
as I mourn to achieve
your lost warm kiss.

With coldness' melancholic melody
and darkness as my accompany,
nostalgia bombards me helplessly.

Consistently sailing the seas of night sky,
when will I ever be able to flight
across the walls of life
and clutch your hand
again, my man?
Gwenth Simoy Feb 2018
I miss the way she smiles
at flowers and blue skies,
the way she sees hues of life
in variety, rather than black and white

I miss her braveness
as she face a storm’s caress,
her joy in times of drought
that everyone adores in this town

I miss her tranquil voice
that gives a lift to people’s hope,
for today the only thing that revives her
is the forlorn sign of her remaining breath

I miss her distinct kind of ways
not long before the world threw her blades

I wiped my tears and wondered,
would people apologize
for drowning me in fright?

As I glance at the mirror in front of me
hopelessness lulled me to sleep
Gwenth Simoy Feb 2018
You are the only stain
amongst the veins
of my bare flesh
that I surely don’t
wanna be scraped
with time’s progress.

You are the only star
I ever agreed to trance
and ******* the galaxies
of my vapid universe.

You are the only soul
that painted amidst my skin
and created a portal
to either drive me
in archaic bliss
or lull me
with tomorrow’s fears.
Gwenth Simoy Feb 2018
Behind every sea of rakish flowers,
is a field once realm for bloodshed
a land filled with graveless deaths
among soldiers slained barbarously
to alleviate nation’s perils to peace.

Here’s a canvas people adore,
yet knowing the inane nights
its artist had spent with zealous eyes,
and the filthy reality it implies
would there still be the same majestic glance?

Casting smiles that seem to never fade
nor go out of style even in million days,
she had lured them with joy and grace
without showing how drowned she is
amidst the sea of her own fears.

Spectral sooth hides from their eyes
the arms of hope, for her declines
and their ears are shut
while her soul hums inane whines.

A brave imagery of her,
and their eyes shine.
Yet she thirsts for someone,
who would see her scars
with tantalizing eyes.
Gwenth Simoy Feb 2018
Art
Down the memory lane,
I saw myself yearning
and heeding to create
an art that would drive
countless people to sane.

Yet now,
seeing my vivid reflection
in front of the windowpane,
I just simply wanna be,
the art itself.

An image of clarity,
hidden beneath the naked
beauty of vagueness.
I wanna be art people would really yearn to comprehend.

— The End —