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I never asked you to leave
Only advised to chase your dreams
Wasnt l part of the dream. Random thoughts
Why does it always feel like
no one's listening
when I talk?
I'm never loud enough..
__
                           it doesn’t end does it

it does,  eventually

                            i don’t think so.
                            the falling never stops.
                            the feeling still sits in the
                            middle of me. it doesn’t      end
                            or go away.

there are some things
we can’t change.
things that are bound to be
a part of us.


                            i just wish for a little while  
                            it could
                           cease to exist entirely.


i’d still be here even if you
aren’t anymore.
whatever you leave unsaid
remains
unsaid forever and all that
you have said
is eventually lost in time.

you only share the silence,
the unsaid,
which exists when everything
else ceases to exists.
that’s sad isn’t it?

                                     no,
                                     it’s a relief
                            ————

                    there is only silence
             from whence the voice spoke
             and so
             the world above us
             resurfaces
             or perhaps, it is us that
             emerge unknowingly
             as lost conversations with the void.

Watching the sunset
feels so peaceful
Watching the sunset
indeed's blissful
But no sunset
can be so beautiful
when i look at you
some poem drafts on my notebook
..
mayhap the reason I feel heavy during downpours
is because I left uncovered the hole in my heart where you dug.
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)
My heart is a nest of a thousand moons,
each one, a fissured marble of hope
each one, a chunk of prayer
my tongue cannot chant on its own.

Tell me, how can you know
you’re not going to break tonight
when your chest shrinks against your bones
being pulled by the gravity?
Tell me, how do you know
your light’s not going to fade tonight –
you’re not going to be dragged by the wave?

My heart:
a nest of a thousand feeble moons;
a chamber of all brittle hopes;
trembling, crumbling against my skin –
and this evening,
as the ocean replaces the blood in my veins,
Bakunawa rises, slithers,
she rips her way into my heart,
biting one hope after the other,
devouring all of them whole,
until I can no longer stand the pain,
until I can no longer feel a beat against my chest.

These shattered cries,
they’re no prayers to fend off the monster,
they’re no rituals to cease the tremor;
I no longer know if my voice
is just a crack of the moon
or a thunder I cannot hear.

I no longer know if my tears are just blood
seeping out of the splinters of the cloud.

My heart –
it’s but a nest of a thousand moons,
weight all falling down on me;
and yet my heart –
its beat is running away from me,
it’s pumping all away from me.

My heart –
it has lost all of its hopes;

So, tell me, how can you know
if the moon is shining back again?
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