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raen Sep 2011
An inner earthquake rattles him again
             as the fiery sun dips in the horizon
             Can he too, hide his halo as such?
             Closing his eyes as he folds in his wings,
             wishing he could take it off
             He trembles...must he embrace darkness to know of love?

Sun breaks over the mountain range,
her obsidian skin absorbing the light.
If her body is like a canvas of night,
could she reach within herself,
beyond the horns and hooves
and find her own hidden sunrise, deep inside?

             The darkness is more reassuring
             than he could have ever imagined-
             something to truly weigh his goodness against,
             in a finely-tuned balancing act.
             And as the stars can help guide a lost soul,
             he too possesses a true north within.

Oddly enough, she welcomes the radiance,
such a stark contrast to what she has been used to-
rays drip into her like ink diffuses in water,
a momentary burst of chaotic brilliance,
followed by an even stillness.
She cannot escape it, becoming a part of her.

             The rooster crows for the third time,
             so he opens his eyes to this daybreak,
             emerald mountains shimmering in the morning light.
             Through abysmal depths, he arises and now realizes
             Darkness comes as the light falls, it is inevitable…
             yet Light also takes over that darkness.

With the thickening dusk,
clouds turn into amethyst ribbons.
The day's warmth thawed a part of her
that was kept frozen and dead for eons.
Now, she would do everything in her power
to keep it pulsing--to keep it alive.

---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­---
             *Upon watching them, sheer fascination takes over…
             Even though these two are on different paths,
             they had both achieved a similar transformation,
             as if neither was an agent for one side, or the other.
             Not any longer.
             And how their auras shone
             ....in perfect equilibrium.
08042011
raen Sep 2011
You speak of love, and I say nay
Betrayal is more like it
I trusted you, but you took advantage
plundering it to oblivion

Your tokens of love are laughable,
all merely fool’s gold
they satiated me before
now they disgust me                                                               ­       
          

We speak of different kinds of love
Yours is physical, mine is emotional
and I refuse to give in anymore
so throw away your bargaining chips

This love is not for sale.
05252010
raen Sep 2011
Curved in a ball
thinking


Cars roaring by
-muffled.


Crickets chirping
-muted.


Eyes closed
pondering


Everything is still.
Except my heart-
...beating


Everything is hushed.
Except my mind-
...speaking


Everything is quelled.
Except my soul-
...opening


to the wonders
of
Quietude
2010
raen Sep 2011
Come out, I whisper, come out
peek softly from your veil of clouds,
grace the velveteen sky with your glow
Speak to me your tales of woe,
of lovesick souls in search of hearts,
lost in the labyrinth of desire...

then show me there is Hope
...Enchanted midnight moon



...of which the Moon whispers back...


Step out from the shadows, step out
bravely bask in my borrowed light,
fill the night air with your hope
Sweetly sing to me your wishes of love,
of ill-fated hearts to find their soulmates,
alive from the abyss of despair...

and I'll tell you all is not lost
...Courageous, faithful soul
2009
raen Sep 2011
Am I the only one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing?

Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string

Yes, it can soar indeed,
so high, with the wind taking it places,
almost making it forget,
just enjoying the wind rushing through,
lighthearted

The wind drops,
then it gets snared
among tree branches maybe,
or perhaps stuck on a roof or elsewhere

with its string all tangled and knotted,
almost impossible to untangle

if made with paper,
it should be lucky to still be intact,
with nary a tear

more often than not,
it gets ditched in the trash,
the price to pay for
its momentary freedom

Sometimes, though
perhaps a rarity these days,
there is that boy who makes
that kite from scratch,
whittles the sticks himself,
painstakingly forming that frame,
creating that kite with love

So when it does get all tangled up,
that boy still tries so hard to fix it,
to make it new...
never minding the cuts
he gets in the process--

That string not meant to tie down
that kite,
but a lifeline to the boy

But like I said,
that must be a rare thing these days...

For I am one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing...
Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string
08172011
raen Sep 2011
rain
hits…stings…
my scorched skin
refreshing me
my troubles sloughing off like dead skin cells


                                                         ­                                                    too much rain now, seems like I am drowning
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                  bob up, bob down
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                     plunging deep
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                             breathe in
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                                       air


    ­                                                                 ­                  life
                                                                ­                   balance
                                                                ­                hard to get
                                                             ­                 but     possible
                                                            I walk…teetering buckets of water
08022010
raen Sep 2011
Everyday she looks at herself in the mirror
but doesn't really see
             ...until today

Never realized until now
just how much depth
        superficial lines can behold...


She  t
         r
          a
           i
            l
             s
                along the scar on her left cheek

and remembers
just how much it hurt that day...
...the wound has healed,
though the heart is taking
a longer time to catch up


She   t...r...a...c...e...s...
the lines on her palm,
mulling over what fate has dealt her,
heart and mind interconnected
by the invisible lines of reason and feeling
fate lines to heart lines to life lines


worry lines, age lines and laugh lines
each tell a story
each a silent witness to her life
of sadness, of growing up, of happiness
...of loving and living


Crossing that finish line
is inevitable
She's getting there...
ever so slowly, and she savors each step
completely content with the etched lines
that she gathers along the way...
09212010
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