Dec 2018 Jing Xi Lau
olivia anne
i'm a flower;
you fall for the petals,
and the captivating scent.
you uproot me,
crush the stem,
forget to water me,
and wonder why i wilt.
Jing Xi Lau Dec 2018
I am the poem you wrote on the back of your hand,
The ink that was washed away,
Flown into the drain.
I am the idea you hurriedly scribbled on a napkin in a coffee shop,
But forgot to take with you.
I am the tune you could never hum right,
The page that fell off the hinge of an old book,
Collecting dust.
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2018
We're all dying to feel alive,
Are we the living dead?
We hate to love
But we fall in love anyway.
We wander just to get lost,
But we want to be found.
We spend our nights together,
But we feel more alone than ever.
We cover our ears,
Shout across horizons.
What's this sound?
Deafening silence.
Piercing through the noise of the world.
My people want freedom
My people want peace
Our leaders are corrupt they do not lead
All man are born free
For us its a myth
We are all leashed
Unshackle us
Set us free
All men are born free and equal, and have certain natural, essential, and unalienable rights; among which may be reckoned the right of enjoying and defending their lives and liberties; that of acquiring, possessing, and protecting property; in fine, that of seeking and obtaining their safety and happiness (UNIVERSAL HUMAN RIGHTS OF MEN  DECLARATION)
  Nov 2018 Jing Xi Lau
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2018
Art
What is art?
Is it the expression of creative skill?
The application of imagination?

Is art the creation of beauty?
The birth of emotional power?
Or is art solely imitation?
A copy of something that is real?

Is art a fool’s attempt at immortality?
Angelic bodies immortalized within a frame,
Faces of eternal youth,
Fruit that is forever ripe,
Flowers in perpetual bloom?

Is art a source of calm in a chaotic world?
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2018
The world claims that it has too many writers,
But not enough scientists.
Everyone can be a writer,
But not everyone a scientist.
So cynical.

Now everyone is a scientist,
No one writes anymore,
No one cares to,
No one but I.
You’d think the world needs more writers,
Now more than ever.
So naïve.

The truth is,
The world only has room for science and progress,
Machine guns and machine men,
With machine hearts.
There is no space,
For poetry and love.
This is no place,
For us.
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