Oh, Abernathy
How long has it been
Since we left school
And went our separate ways?

Oh, Abernathy
I still think of you
And I wonder how you are
To this day

All the things we used to make
All the rules we tried to break
And they say that kids will still be kids

But, oh, Abernathy
The teachers are doing fine
They were smiling
When I visited them one day

And, oh, Abernathy
I hope you're doing well
Wherever you are
Whatever may come your way

Oh, the memories I hold dear
They have all but disappeared
It's both a blessing and a curse

Oh, Abernathy
My Lawrence, Abernathy
I wonder what you're doing
To this day

There's no need to be upset
Please don't sweat this stuff or fret
I only want to let you know

Abernathy, you're still on my mind
I remember your golden hair and your pearly eyes
Our friendship will never fade away, I swear

Oh, Abernathy
Dear Lawrence, Abernathy
I just pray to God
That you are still okay

Oh, Abernathy
I always think of you
And I wonder how you are
To this day

Whatever happened to the promises
We made for the greater good?
What are we doing to keep them?
Are we doing less than we should?

What are we teaching our children now?
Are we teaching them at all?
What will they grow up to be?
Will they live to become our downfall?

Did we forget our own language?
Or did we simply not learn in the first place?
And have we no words to write
And no words to say?

What good are our brains
If we have no mind to use them?

Is this the best we can do?
Have we reached our limits?
Can we aim high no longer?
Are we fated to aim forever low?

How many times must we be warned
Until we get the message?
Are the ones who warn wasting their breath?
Are we going deaf?

How much blood do we have to spill?
How much damage do we have to cause and feel?
Have we gone blind?
Whatever happened to goodwill?

What's to become of the loving ones?
What's to become of the earnest ones?
What's to become of everyone with a heart?

Are all the good people doomed
To be used by the bad?

Is this the best we can do?
Have we reached our limits?
Can we aim high no longer?
Are we fated to aim forever low?

What about faith, hope and love?
What about those who live to love?

What about faith, hope and love?
What about those who live for love?

What about faith, hope and love?
What about those who live in love?

What about faith, hope and love?
What about those who live and love?

What are you thinking now?
Where are you going now?
What are you thinking, Colobus?

How are you doing today?
How are you feeling today?
How are you doing, Colobus?

Is there somewhere that you need to be?
Or feel the urge to be?
Is there something that you want to do?
No matter how high the walls may be?

Will you be alright out there?
Even in the cold night out there?
Will you be alright, Colobus?

Promise that you'll take care out there?
Promise that you'll be strong out there?
Promise that you'll take care, Colobus?

Sorry to trouble you,
but there’s something I ought to tell you now that you’re here.
If you came here looking for an interesting poem to read,
I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.
Why?
Because this is not a poem.

This is not a narrative detailing a certain someone doing something in a certain time and place.
This is not a series of lyrics longing to be converted into music.
This is not a picture made up of a thousand words – or thousands for that matter.

This is not a fancy epic or tragedy or comedy bound by the treacherous laws of stanzas.
This is not an ode to a pre-existing memory – or several memories for that matter.

This is not a set of verses born free from the daunting laws of stanzas.
This is not even a collage of pre-existing poems mixed and matched to the heart’s content.
Simply put – this is anything but a poem.

Even if it was,
I doubt that it would be the kind of poem you would want to read.
You would most likely find better poetry somewhere else.
Here, there is no narrative, no subject matter and no context.
Therefore, if this was a poem,
it would be about absolutely nothing and have no meaning whatsoever to anyone.

That’s why I’m telling you that this is not a poem.
That’s why I’m advising you to look for a real poem elsewhere.
But, no matter what I say,
you wouldn’t listen to me anyway, would you?

I made it clear from the beginning that this is not a poem,
but you read it through to the end regardless.
Why is that?
Why would you take the time to read something about absolutely nothing?

Were you curious?
Did you just happen to stumble upon this while minding your own business and decide to take a peek out of curiosity?
Or were you bored?
Were you feeling desperate to find something completely different from the poetry you would normally read?

Either way,
this was never meant to be a poem waiting to be read.
And yet, in spite of that,
you read it anyway.
For that, I feel that the least I can do in return is say this:

Thank you.

Walking the dawn in darkness
Passing the synthesis of stars
Who could you be looking for
On an hour shrouded in vice?

Do you seek the dame in bruises?
The dame who you shunned to do no harm?
The months may pass you by
But not your fears or your tears

This time
The cries are not your own
This time
You feel the need to compensate
For the distance that you made
To protect yourself from pain

Tonight
You have condolences to give
Tonight
You feel the need to chip at the ice
Before you turn and run
With no more ties to this crumbling estate

Your eyes were quivering so
Your lips were sealed by your own will
You dared not ***** your hands
Just glance and wear a smile or two

But now as the fool is raging
You fear that the dame may turn down life
As you considered once
When you sunk down all those years ago

This time
The cries are not your own
This time
You feel the need to compensate
For the distance that you made
To protect yourself from pain

Tonight
You have condolences to give
Tonight
You feel the need to chip at the ice
Before you turn and run
With no more ties to this crumbling estate

Do you wish to remain faithful
To your newfound passion for life?
Is that why you hope to reach out
Just this one time?

When you were a child
Your heart was shattered by violence
Cornering you into a hall of chains
Now you fear that there are other hearts out there
Running on the edge of despair
Could that be why

This time
The cries are not your own
This time
You feel the need to compensate
For the distance that you made
To protect yourself from pain

Tonight
You have condolences to give
Tonight
You feel the need to chip at the ice
Before you turn and run
With no more ties to this crumbling estate

We have endured for so long
Together in the heart of inmost turmoil
Our hearts crashing into brick walls
Too shunned to recoil let alone beat

But we have only had a taste test
Of the heartbreak we are yet to face
Just a sample of the pain
Intensifying every passing day
Can we be strong when the time comes?

So many years have passed by
Years of walking in the sea of rain and stone
WIth minds full of gasoline
We cannot hope to survive the overflow of heat

For we have only had a taste test
Of the heartbreak we are yet to face
Just a sample of the pain
Intensifying every passing day
Can we stay strong when the time comes?

My tears are too precious to shed
In no way can I ever afford to let them fall
Into the wrong hands
But my heart cannot hold them away for long
I fear that I may not awake from the nightmare
In the obelisk of glass

As I have only had a taste test
Of the heartbreak I am bound to face
Just a sample of the pain
Intensifying in my lonely wake
Must I be strong when the time comes?
Must I get strong when the time comes?

Wonderland by day
Wasteland by night

Hospitable under the sun
Hostile under the moon

Flourishing in the light
Destructive in the dark

Heaven for the accompanied
Hell for the alone

I was born on the bright side
Now I live on the dark side

But not for long
I'm going back

Ever since I was growing up
I've been walking a rocky path
Each long night wouldn't be the first
Nor would it be the last

Now this is something most of the time
I've only felt in my heart
But never before did I feel it straight
Until one cold hike in the dark

I got spikes in the grass
Mud on my shoes
Blood on my hands
But nothing to lose
Skin full of needles
Head full of hope
Time to get back on the ***** (I hope)

Ever since I was a college boy
My monochrome scarf from France
Accompanied me on the bleakest of days
Though I guess it wasn't meant to last

Because I got spikes in the grass
Mud on my shoes
Blood on my hands
But nothing to lose
Skin full of needles
Head full of hope
Time to get back on the *****

Ouch!
It's hot!
Ever so boiling!
Too hot to handle!
I can't stand this heat!
I need a drink of water!
Something nice and cool!
Something ice cold!
A drink!
Anything!

Walking down the wet pavement was a tall, young man in a black, silk yukata robe with matching leather shoes, spandex half-mask and large, opaque umbrella with a round, wooden handle.

One could say that he was posing as a sharp-dressed samurai without a sword; that he was eager to recreate the experience of a samurai strolling through his ancient hometown. But there were no cherry blossoms falling on his umbrella, only heavy raindrops.

In fact, raindrops have been falling on his umbrella ever since he purchased it from one of his favorite clothes department stores. Back then, he used to carry it with him whenever he wore his favorite grey, cotton trench coat and navy-blue jeans in the rain.

One may mistake him for a chameleon changing his colors once a day or a piano ballad shifting tempo and style with each verse; maybe even a cottage with lights flashing at different speeds like sweet turning sour in the blink of an eye.

Regardless of it all, he would always carry his trustworthy, respectable umbrella and count on it to keep him dry even in the heaviest of downpours.

Peace to repentance
Nothingness to apathy
Such as all should be