Why not.
Not why.

a blood-dyed string of destiny unites us,
from end to hematic end.
i dance and strafe,
to and fro,
skirring the breath-thin thread.
it’s not til’ i’m entangled
that i discern the red is my own alone.
my place in this web i apperceive,
while you perch upon the heart of the now gossamer,
like the right widow you are.

One year of not writing
One year of not thinking
One year of not saying
One year of not having my words spoken
One year of not having my words said
One year of not having my words read
One year of not writing
One year of not writing
I don’t know why
Sometimes my words don’t come to my mind so I don’t even try
Maybe that’s why
Well I think it’s about time I retry
Just one year of not writing

090424
@ CB

Will it ever matter if I don’t rhyme?
Will the symphony of my soul be brought to halt?
And if I ever stop chasing the seas,
Would I end up wandering
And be thrown into the lakes of uncertainties?

And when’s the time to speak up?
If no one would ever listen —
Their old windows were shut,
Will they ever roll up the blinds?

If I stop poetry,
Would they ever know?
Who would care if I lost appetite
And send petitions to heal my soul?

For many times I wonder
How the sun meets no end
But in the span of few hours
There’s no left in him —
And yet tomorrow is still his.

Some bids goodbye,
But some simply dive and never looked back.
They drive their own tires
But still missed out the trains.

Oh poor fellow,
They disgust with their own dirt.
Some picked up their mat
And already walked the talk
But some remained in silence
Hoping that one day, they’ll beg no more.

Some still plants the seeds they kept too long,
While some harvest what they toil.
And they’ll ask, “Will justice ever come?”
Some embrace the narrow roads —
Walking in silence and let go the gongs.
But some entered the wrong doors,
For their eyes are on fire
Throwing arrows from left to right.

A short of breath —
One sighs and one sleeps.
But the snap of the thunders,
The roaring of the mighty lion,
Aren’t they being disturbed?

We see the horizon,
They get flames burning down,
We listen to the birds chirping,
Why do they hear bomb sounds?
Why do we set alarms?
And they don’t sleep at night,
Why do our children go to school?
And theirs have to fight,
Why do we cry tears?
And they cry blood,
What vision do we have?
All the eyes are shut,
Why do we have shelter?
While they are trying to hide,
Why do we get to live?
When they are dying with smiles,
Why do we get heard?
When they are screaming in pain,
What made us so heartless?
The world has lost its shame

because teenagers are the meanest people on the planet
because i wanna be like richard silken
was richard silken a loser in highschool?
surely he was
no poet escapes ridicule and most of us deserve what we get
because i’m angry and no one except my parents beleive me
because man up man up man up
because i want to throw my guts up onto the pavement
because everything is so beautiful but none of it is real
because i wanna be like richard silken
and take this anger and make it meaningful

Moon as it cresent
Sun as it sets on the waves of whispers
Theses lines of horizon seems too distant
The bone as it's cold from the starry night
The man lost in the purple sky
You find great freckles in the faces of passerbys
These nights I won't remember
As the midnight hailes