If my heart is bound to swerve one day;
thou shall never let go of my hand;
nor mourn in the shade of the cypress tree,
for I need thine soul to understand.
Thou shall not seek another,
only hearth shall warm you in rain
Thou shall not hear a nightingale,
lest its song might put you in pain.

Thou shall be the bamboo that bend,
or a field of golden wheat that sway;
haply forthwith the fate shall lend
back to thy arms, I come next day.

I have built a body out of words
like how a melody needs a body to resound
from the ends of your hair
to the tips of your toes as you spin around
like a ballerina trapped in an old music box
swriling in a harmony of its existence,
engulfed into notes as if breath of life,
that made her alive
and live

I have made life out of poetry
for there are so much words to lay into stacks of paper
for there are so much rhymes to fit into one's ears
for there are so much things that I wanna hear
for myself
to fill me

Until I realized words are also used on things other than filling emptiness.

The blanket of stars draped over the sky
lighting up your path towards another book
Dip your feet into your overflowing ink of acquired wisdom,
Step on the blank first page of your own tome,
and dance your way across the page
Fill every inch
Write every name
Paint every memory
For a moment is all we are
And this moment is yours
the season, in which the bud will finally bloom
A girl you once were,
but now shall be regarded as a blossomed lady

And I will always be by your side
whenever you get tired
of dancing
of writing
of filling the blank paper
whenever your feet swell
whenever you run out of ink
whenever it gets hard to turn the pages,
I will be by your side

Let us turn every page of today into yesterday

Amidst the restless nights I walk alone
weaving past the streets of cobblestone

Toting on my mind is a notion overlooked,
I'm a connoisseur of allegory and oftentimes rebuke

"You ignorants! You do not know,
Like an ailment, silence grows

and without haste, it will devour you,
'til the words once chromatic lose its hue"

Yet my forewarning like fine raindrops fell
Resonated not, never even a moment to dwell

as to that exploit perforated an ephipany:
My voice will never be heard, that is ought to be;

and my words will nevermore transpierce thee,
For I am silence and silence is me.