To read is to breathe
To write is to drink
To listen is to eat and
To wonder is to believe

I could never believe in such things.
Momma taught me to never make promises.
I'll only have what I make that I say can be,
Even if it means out bleeding the daily dosage than what's given to me.
I trust in it as much as I can.
Until it's like dad coming back with a pack of cigarettes.
It's just an Idea
But more make believe, ya?
Have it Or Not.
Make it or Forsake it.
Sometimes fantasy is better than the picture already given.

I know, I know!
It ain't what it seem!
But it's better just an Idea!

But it's better a fantasy than what you keep feeding me

Dope-a! Morph-a
Feel you in my spine!
I just saw you yesterday with huge *** smile.
But I still can't find you like the rest of my mind.
Incomplete.
But Not Obsolete

Is a
way back

to who
you
really are

as its culture creates on demand

belief is the condition
the cure keeps looking for

if you focus on the best of life it will be created to you
and if you focus on the worst that will be created to you too

BIRTHDAY-POEM 6-4-2
( Meaning the end-rhymes consist of 6-4-2 rhyming words )

The most precious thing
will never blinq
for this occasion
my happiest congratulations
from my heart to yours
in romantic symphonical moors

the depth not to measure
just for pagan pleasure
for divine delights
we'll have long blessed nights

amongst paganish duvet
holied by God’s own brevet

© Sylvia Frances Chan

I have called out often to you
and I have craved your intervention.
Never really sure if you exist at all,
I still sought for your attention.

I searched the faiths a many
and I have tried to understand.
What it was that I must do
to reach out to your open hand.

My faith has wavered greatly
as my time has ambled on.
Yet often did I pray to you,
though at times my faith had gone.

So many times did I reach for you
from the depths of my despair.
Hoping for some magic sign
that you were standing there.

I have looked upon the world and universe,
To see its beauty and its terrors too.
In some unseen and mystifying way,
these things all cry out a testament of you.

I have come to think that we,
are not at the centre of your plan.
Your universe so vast in purpose,
for the tininess of a single man.

Endless chaos and reconstruction,
on a scale that a lifetime can't comprehend.
Recycling endless matter,
on a path seemingly without an end.

Yet you gave me mind and time,
to see this snapshot of the plan.
Giving cause for hope that you can hear,
the prayers of this small man.

whose do you choose
be made real for you