Dannia Brown Dec 7

You’re hurting, and you wonder
why time hasn’t done much healing for you.
You wonder why his voice still move mountains,
and rivers inside of you..
He’s like that leech that you just cannot rid yourself of.
He is that bad stain that you carry with you everywhere;
letting the world know that you should be identified
by the heartbreak he’s invested in you.
Baby, how do you expect to heal
when you allow that man to linger in and out of your life?
He’s not in your bed but he is in your head.
Manipulating and pulling your strings
like his personal little puppet, and you allow him to;
thinking that it’s better to have him this way
than to not have him at all.

Give yourself time to heal, it's okay, there's no rush to be okay.
Dannia Brown Dec 6

Take it from someone
that’s done the whole ‘waiting around’ thing.
It’s not worth it.
If someone isn’t sure how they feel about you.
Do yourself a favour and leave.
Don’t stay.
Don’t try to show them that
you are whats best for them—
they will never know whats best for them.
You cannot get a blind person to see
or an ignorant person to understand
or a confused person to love you.
That’s just the way it is.
You can give a person the world
and they will still crave the sun.
You can give a person everything you own,
and they will ask for the one thing
you don’t have.

Don't waste your time waiting for anyone.
Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Night

thick with serenity

and ink

moon atilt

tinging shades of soft light

endless Milky Way

stars are free to flash

loneliness is quiet

outside the curtain of old dream

thoughts are chasing the clear waves

of time

the mind is learning

to be simple and happy

free and easy

same piece of sky

can be outlined with different brushes

same touch of moonlight

can be traced with different emotions

a touching scenery

every constellation is a bright song

to a warm heart

and every cloud a blooming flower

a euphuistic affair at leisure time

a jaunt to chapters of inked serenity

flipping through moods

reading through the heartfelt

ecstasy.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Wings of dusk

in the abyss of light

red filmy clouds dyeing the horizon

the sea quivering

a golden thread

winding in midair

sun setting slowly

breeze blowing gently

night is silence

lighthouse is lit

the distance

is bright.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Less of the hustle and bustle

of the past

shuttling padestrians

dead leaves

winter

sun with open arms

quiet street

a crowd of school children

a game of chess

sleeping barley

sunlight is the key

to lighting up

the mood.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Mottled paints mixed

cold wind on a palette

daubed on the gray sky

where cold wind transits

clouds

a touch of winter

people on the bridge

counting birds

silently.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Darkness breaks into houses

people are poisoned

by it

asleep in the middle of the night

they know not the ambition of darkness

they are smiling sweetly

dark night is roaring

wanting people to slumber

forever

but darkness will be defeated

by justice

when the sun loads the gun

with golden bullets

darkness will be

shattered.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Great happiness

endless happiness belongs to those who were born

close to the sun

the galaxy can see them

in love

walking

crying

moving around

carrying in their hands

a clock

that comes from the core of a rare earth

greater than all the unknown

more magnificent

the universe

extending infinitely in all directions

a black hole

extending downward

to the invisible

the weightless

living blood flowing

the stars above

the people living in the sky above

dust rejoicing among them

freely

men women and children

joy loneliness and love

floating

maturing

illuminating the sky with colors

they're everywhere

walking loving crying

the molecules in their soul

come from a galaxy

in the sky.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

Livid clouds

raindrops

the sky is an endless

ink wash painting

dynamic

stereoscopic

somewhat elegant

rainbow comes

a touch of curlicue

a plume of mist.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 5

The perspective

of all styles of shapes

stepping on the lines of music

spinning in a painting

in the depths of impression

a postural language

opening into the garden of flowing lines

of a model

surfacing a solitary world

outside of languages.

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