That brief moment
Walking into the shaded apartment to find you reading in flannel
And everything in me jumps
The camera obscura of my iris snaps,
Suspending you in amber light.
The tapered elegance of your fingers across a page
A glint of Versailles blue-gold eyes
And fortified ramparts of your shoulders.
I will carry this vestige with me
In a petticoat pocket
Until we are old
And your arms do not lift me as you just did
The last strand of your hair is silver
And your cheeks sink with age like your father’s.
These small gems of youth
Of promise
To keep in a sleeve until they are needed
And the mirrors show reflections we cannot change

The feeling of fear meeting someone for the first time
the delight looking at a little child playing
near ecstasy smelling a magnolia blossom
a secure feeling upon seeing Pampas Grass.

The unsafe feeling being with the blonde man
who had been nothing but kind to me
then… finally I remembered
the sandy-haired boy who made an object of me
at age seven behind the barn on a summer day.

So much of the self is hidden
chaining me to the old
keeping me in a caterpillar state
stumbling over chunks of earth
ignorant of what can happen
in the cocoon.

But learning, writing, remembering
can make me a Monarch
flying into spring.

What does one do when the characters you hate
Are the ones you best construe?
Misgivings and flaws you can relate
To, tho venerable traits you eschew,

The green light gazers and "architect" praisers
Familial leeches or the confessor who preaches
That awareness absolves one of sin,
Compromisers and self-named kaisers
Resound and reverberate within

They pass by in my pages to be mocked and scorned
As evil, cruel, an oaf, or a tool
Too low to respect or too high on their horse
Despicable, maniacal, mediocre, or worse

And I do hate their vileness, I do hate their flaw
I want to shake them and claw at their skull
For nothing more than the gleam of recognition
That by some misfortune of natural law
They and I share a need for contrition.

I once was so eager to find the meaning of life,
never knew the reason why of facing the strife.
I was naive, thinking life was easy before,
as I grew older, I'd learned a little more.

now I understand, not to find the meaning of life,
'cause I'm the the one who define my own life.
albeit delightful or woeful I'll feel,
it's all depend on the way I choose to live.

snowflakes
fall little by little,
this town becomes
whiter and whiter.

sparrows
move to a warmer place,
trees somehow
have fallen asleep.

no blossoms bloom,
no soothing tune,
somehow, I'm missing you.

snowflakes
fade away little by little,
this town become
brighter and brighter.

perhaps, you'll come to me,
like the spring promised to me.

or perhaps, I shall cherish
the cherry blossoms
for I've gone through that
all alone.

fascinating, like the aroma of tea,
pleasing moon to have a drink.
like the liquor, it brings the glee,
overfill my cup but not to drunk.

tonight, let's paint the town red,
there in my throat the odours overspread.
under the moonlight, I dance with my shadow,
holding a wine, too fine to swallow.

I'm not drunk and it might be true,
stumbling and murmuring on the way back home.
my life is not utterly dark nor blue,
I'm just missing him and the dawn.

life is black and white,
like their thoughts,
hard to be fathomed.
either the hidden truth
or the high-sounding words
will never untangle
the knot in my heart.
perhaps life is grey,
the mixture of glee and woes,
never taste too acerbic, nor too sweet,
bittersweet is the best.

Untold words in my throat,
I swallowed them into my heart.
They molded a thousand of fears,
they created a million of tears.
They would glow like the stars,
slowly they exploded
and became the black holes.

life goes on with or without you.
as the autumn arrives, the leaves fall.
as the spring comes, the blossoms bloom.
reading the circle of life,
watching the seasons change.
I'll be as simple as the phenomenon,
move on when need to,
stay when it means.
so, when the leaves fall,
I won't feel dejected,
as I know flowers will bloom
and that's what we call life.