May yosi at may asap
Blankong tingin at sipat
Salamin na pang loko
Kulang sa balbas pa no.

Nag aaral ka pa ba
ang tinanong niya sa
Isang batang maliit
Oo po, sagot ng paslit

Parang karaniwan lang
Kung hindi natuluyan
__

Cigarettes and clouds
Blank stares on looking
A fake mirror and guise
Given away by a lack of ****** hair.

"Do you still study"
He asked
The small boy
"Yeah", said the young one.

As if it were normal
Should he say no.

Why do we want to be read?
Is it just to feed our egotistic
fame obsessed mind?
To engorge and devour
positive criticism
like lustful hormonal
teenage boys
******* and whacking off
to every semi naked female?

Or is it to share?
To hope that somewhere
out there,
that there is someone that feels
the same way you feel.
That there is someone that sees
the same way you see.
and there is someone out there
that knows what your going through.

Because in the time that I've been alive,
I've noticed
For a planet with 7 billion people on it
it's really easy to feel alone.

I've learned
That if someone can hear you
it doesn't really mean he's listening
that if someone can see you
it doesn't really mean he knows you're there
that if someone can touch you
it doesn't really mean he feels you.

I've learned that whether
it be inches or miles
distance is distance.
It's all the same without effort.
And it'd be the same with.

I've learned that even if it's summer
even scorching hot
and the heat is making you sweat buckets.
It's all too easy to feel cold.

so for whatever reason
you're reading this
or writing this
or listening to this.
Keeping reading
keep writing
keep listening
keep looking.
Cause you'll find someone
Someone that can see with you
be with you
feel with you
and exist with you.

For what use is the dawn,
without the darkness of dusk.

For what splendor is the summer,
without the ravage of winter.

For what is the finest grape,
without time to ferment and age it.

All lovely things,
grow lovelier,
with a sense
of longing.

He brought
The beloved
golden ring
down to
the pawnshop.

The truth I won't contort,
But your **** is like this poem.
Short.

To admire is to look afar,
to stare at the distant evening star.
To admire is to keep away,
hold your selfish feelings at bay.

To admire is to give them space,
because your feeling is but of disgrace
To admire is to stand your ground
to mere weakness and shame abound.

But to love,

To love is to draw close and near,
to hold you now and hold you here.
To love is to grasp on tight,
lest you be lost on stormy flight.

To love is to breathe you in
your mind, your heart and your skin.
To love is to exist in you
in every single thing you do.

To love is to give all you can,
and only ever stop to ask "when?"
To love is to remain unbound,
as it's passion is the most beautiful sound.

To love is to hold you in me,
till almost the same we would be.
To love is to give me to you,
and my heart stay steadfast and true.

To love is to stay by your side,
come hell, heaven or high tide.
To love is to experience hate,
but despite that to love more due to the strait.

To love is to always uplift,
even in a sea of sadness you drift.
To love is never to be blue,
for all I need is to look at you.