...We learned to sing
the songs of our forefathers and
drank the wine that they brew
though we never really understood
We learned how to create a spark
and made it last the night
We danced around the fire
the fire that brought so much warmth
til it burns and we
learned to scream
hoping the agony would fade
But it stayed and it stayed
to define our existence
So we dream of dreams
dreams we never had
as a salvation in the dark
and managed to climb the tree that
leads to heaven
only to fall and beg on the ground
So
we dug a grave instead
desperately trying to bury the
madness...

...There are times, not as often as he thinks about everything else, that he wonders why people do what people do. He couldn't quite understand their reasons, though he never gave it a thought before. He continued to gaze at the night sky but there was nothing to see but the vagueness in it...

...She whispers
like a guilt, like a needle
in the heart
Her voice lingers, her
thoughts wrap the denial
and the air suddenly becomes
heavy...

...If he could understand, truly understand, the reasons why the need for it, then perhaps he wouldn't get lost in the middle of the confusion. Standing in the middle of it brings so many questions. But, there's only one that stands out...

...She sits
upon the threshold where
pain shares the sunrise
She knows it must be done, She
knows it must
For what sense is Her existence
if the purpose wouldn't be
served...

...It took a while before he understood it. Perhaps it is a natural tendency to run away from the first signs of fire. Although sometimes the smoke doesn't turn into something that burns. It's a shame that the reason was too shallow. Nevertheless He smiled and walked towards the sunset...

...She speaks
as the thunder, illusions
rattle and familiar walls
collapse
Disoriented, panic collides with
reasons but
as with things that
drift, they eventually
fall...

...This love
wasted
a drifting litter on the curb
Trying to remind the self to
forget the feeling
Repressed depression
it's a time bomb waiting for
the ticking to end
Trapped soul in a bottle
and the heart bled like a
high school drama under the spotlight
A cigarette burns to drink the
last drop of yesterday's memory
hoping to be complete but
like whiskey, prayers go
unheard and dissipate into
dreamless clouds before the rain
And so the longing turns
into something
found at the edge of sadness
Despair, it seems
knows how to fall in love with
Irony...

We have been digging and digging the ground even before our forefathers were born. We enjoy it as it defines the essence of our existence. We even built our homes around the pit so
refuge
won’t be far when
the rain comes and
flood the hole
so we can  have warm stew
when things get cold
and soft bed to lay our backs when we
become weary
We even made fire to
conquer the darkness and
sang songs and danced while we dig
But we have been
plagued
by the why and
never really cared
So we dig and worship the pit
and deny our very
end…

...She walked down a long road
rain clouds and grays
concealed the stars
It was dark and cold
Dark
and cold as
her stare
She never went this far before but
the scent of the trail was
too much to resist
She wanted more than
daylight til she was
blinded...
Green are the trees no more
and their silhoutte
embraced the ground
She thought blood is red
under the moonlight but
it was black as uncertainties
and it tasted madness
If only
she could get back
If only she could...
then perhaps
she will see
the sunrise
tomorrow...

...The blood of
the daughters and the
sons of those mothers and
fathers who have been
butchered
in the name of a belief
that transcends reasons
are screaming beyond
agony
But
it seems the heavens are
crowded with
the devil's
******
and the cries were ignored while
they danced and
feasted upon flesh
upon
flesh
They, the mothers and the fathers
languished under the skies
wondering
what has become of
God…

...Heartless
lost and demented
Victims of the cry
It transcends
confusion
magic and faith
Blinded and abused
there's malice in every tear
and the scent of rust
wraps the soul
Hatred is a
quicksand...
Getting deeper and
the world dances with
chaos beneath the
crescent moon
Satisfaction
but it never satisfies the
hunger
So the innocent suffers
as it never gets lighter when
it gets
darker...

...Promises are written
sometimes whispered and sometimes
turn
dark
like poison
Intoxicated, singing under the rain
Bear trap on the back bone is
a burden but
the rain pours with smoke and
the puddle is a distorted
mirror
of everything above
Blinded, cold
drowning and convinced that
the heavens are made by
dark dreams
And so it stopped and she
fell
and fell so hard
The pain turned into agony
She cursed in despair and
closed her eyes
not to rest but to
dream in the
dark...

There are stories to tell...
Some good and some
not so
good
They remind me of wooden stars
hanging
on a dusty old ceiling
Ignored but never forgotten
They were dull like
dreams in the morning
and yet they
scream
much like a nightmare
These stories... they whisper
sometimes to haunt
and sometimes to
justify their
existence
But as with all stories
written or told
the end leads to
another...

He waited... waited long enough to see that a promise's destiny, in a twist that some people may call fate, is sometimes doomed right from the start. I mean, what are the odds that it will bear fruit in the middle of winter?

Upon a blue moon
...rare
Peaceful, calm
and
empty
breathless like a dagger
She was there
longing...

The ground was brittle that night. So brittle, he thought it would break at the wrong take of a breath. He stared at a thought... Venturing out into the night never really pleased him, especially when alone. It's not about the dark or fear or something else, but the feeling of solitude haunts him...

Dreams...
she embraced
Solace
in her veins and her heart
blinded
as it burned the night
Illlusions made her
believe...

But perhaps... perhaps they were right. The howling comes first before the nightmare. He looked on the ground with a trace of a distinct emotion, that often leads to sorrow, and thought he should have not left in the first place... And now that the howling stopped, he wonders what nightmare stands before him...

Underneath a blue
moon... rare
She smiled and she
lied
and thought it was
peaceful and calm
She undressed and
slit her throat...

...We are
throwing stones at the bush
hoping it would
burn
Hoping
for a miracle in the flesh
And we cry in despair and
we get angry
and we get
tired
but restless
So we drop on our knees
to worship the dirt
feeding on madness
...Mirrors to shatter
so as bridges to burn
so we can blame
and dream and
escape
and act like
fools...

...Everything
looks gray like a
restless rain dance amidst despair
Most people deny the scent of
hanging corpses and walk
away from the
inconvenience of truth
and some
think of faith as a mere question
...a choice behind a thought
while the rest of us desperately
conceal the mask
in the pocket of defiance
hoping chance will never give way to
fate...

Control
where does it lead to
if absolute freedom is a path to
chaos?

Maybe I'll never know
So
I'll burn the sacrifice and eat
the ashes from what's left of the
dilemma...

...It's cold
and it's dead
lifeless
misery
Lying within a
paradox in the dark
Landslide thoughts
in a market of
funny looking people
feed the confusion until
everything fades away
Walking dreamless
toward delirium
with a half lit cigarette and
all the world's regret
to seek the answers
in a struggle to defy the
madness
Chaos
there's always reason to embrace
rage
when everything seems to fall
apart...