"We are books.
Most people will judge us on our covers.
Some people will read us just to kill their time,
not to understand the content.
Some people will read us until the end of page,
but then throw us away;
to be forgotten in the dusty box.
Only few people will keep us as treasure,
appreciate every character every word every story,
and love us with their souls
with no time limit."
stereotyped- scarred for life stigmata
but still a man has to get his dollar
dive deep in the murky water
of service and humility,
sailors know that's where the jewelry is
and Life's gems- and Life's treasures-
and Death's life- and Death's pleasures-
so be fearless, no second thought is needed-
you should know your soul is eternally
bound to a life in... in... infinity....
why fear a look down
just ignore their frowns, they're clowns-
they know the dirt comes off
they know you are strong,
you scare them coz you are tough
and you dare too much
and you dare be bold
they know the glitter beneath your pain is gold
Maya thought right: 'from the dirt, I rise'
why not keep it simple
so you don't pay the price
the old ones shrug it off saying,
'they only want your life'
they say 'it's nothing'
but you know what? it's something,
who wants to live trapped,
caged, feeling dead inside
smiles you must know
can never beget dimples
grace you must know
honors the humble
who needs praise?
since I am done,
i thank you for reading
now hurry along
please be gone
they are waiting
Deep below the surface,
of a sea stormy and frenetic;
dozes buried an ancient relict,
once radiant but now pathetic.
It is a long ago sunken ship
the mast and canvas rotten.
The stern revealing injurys,
that are not yet forgotten.
It once carried adventurers,
looking for brand new land;
But now it's decrepit and cursed,
never to reach a strand.
But if you would look closer,
to the shattered and moldered deck,
you would see the dissembled treasure,
that waits to be found within every wreck.
heavy with fruit,
she is suspended in time
Caught in a move
her body winds up,
hugging the cold
pillars and walls,
and out to the sky.
She can curve it
in every way
on a whim,
however she pleases
... and droplets will shine
on her body like lotion,
or jewelry, playfully teasing,
although frozen, the motion,
warm is her dance
in the hands of the sun
and the tickling breeze
You were meant to be it
That would give meaning to my life
Others are blessed with your being-ness
In all my childhood dreams
You would be there
To hold you
To make you feel safe
To cuddle you when you cried
To cradle you when you are hurt
We would play together
I would teach you about life and the world
Take you places far and wide
One day you would have some of your own
And they would grow so you too would be blessed
As I held them in my arms
Yet life never brought you along
Some sort of physical defect
And now I miss you all the more
You were meant to be the one
A child to love and treasure
But you never came
I am the highest mountain,
my tips tickling the sky.
I am the flickering candle,
that brings light to your eye.
I am the smallest rain drop,
that makes tarns and rivers grow.
I am the twinkling stars,
that show you which way to go.
I am the current of the tides,
and the moon that makes them change.
I am a gift or favor given,
whithout expecting any exchange.
You see I am not only human,
I own nothing you can measure;
but I am made of stardust,
the universe's greatest treasure.
I need a minute of your attention
(Though a thousand years couldn't fill my need)
How's the weather? Or should I mention,
The way that work's been treating me?
Small talk! That simply horrid invention....
a highschool course I never did pass.
A torture device for social convention,
Helps us conversate...when, oh! Alas!
I want to know YOU, not the weather!
I long to hear your deepest thoughts
Your mind contains the finest finest treasure,
The kind of jewels that can't be bought.
Yellow is the saddest color:
Reminiscent of happy days
In gay youth-
Now melancholy anew.
When sewn into the hand
It projects a joy, to conceal
That awful tear.
A harvest rich with
The blood of wilted flowers-
As summer dies and with it
A faith in future dreams.
Yellow is the ironic shade
Of weeping friends
Sheltered in their knit
A sweater gilded with ash
A skin with holes
From their unseen tools.
Past ago, before respect
Traitors could dance.
Yellow is the hue of pasts undone
Without a map they seek golden
Which is the treasure--
Which either, will hurt the eyes
With painful tears of loss and regret:
And yellow becomes you.
I found a treasure box that filled with dusks
that doesn't have a golds or diamonds on it,
but got a simple antiquated photographs
that displayed what occurred on my past life.
The rainbow by refraction of the sun's rays
the times that there's no great challenges
positivity is just living at heart of my personify—
illusory of hope's beauty can make me satisfy.
The star that origin from the southeastern part
the vis-à-vis of waking up and talk to my friends,
counting one to ten while my eyes are closed
seeking their wonderful visages with a curve.
Those flowers in the yard that starts to bloom,
taking it and say he loves me or he loves me not
while eating some soil and collecting the petals,
marked a colourful stains on my vesture.
The moon's gloom that guide me to my home
after a almost a day of playing out-of-door,
and everything will start again tomorrow
but all of what happened is now a part of yore.