Some are my
angels
Halo'd and winged

Others my
demons
Horned and singed

These words I speak of,
these ill-fated feti,
doomed remnants on the yellowed page.
Lie lonely,
and shawled

      found in attics and cobwebbed mem'ries long gone
      in scrapbooks and photos of loved ones moved on

Wicked words can devour
the feeble and weak
as they bump into walls in the night.
Sightless,
and hushed

Yet there was once a vision
They once had a voice
And I am not God.
The weak make their own choice

The meek nestles into the dark,
where power hums like a distant storm,
where strength, sharp-edged and waiting,
does not strike, does not break.

It does not cower.
It does not beg.

Fragility leans into force,
where dominion is not destruction
but a burden, a silence, a choice.

The strong does not devour.
The strong does not yield.

Between them, an understanding—
not spoken, not sworn,
but written in breath,
in the weight of stillness,
in the knowledge that power alone
withers without something to shelter,
and meekness alone
shatters without something to bear it.

The world does not see the balance,
but they do,
and so, for now,
they remain—unchallenged,
unbroken.

Heavier than ever,
I lost my strength.
Such a difference— Never!
I wish to go any length.

This is no tale of mass,
For I would carry the world.
It's a burden, that would fail Atlas
Even his grip couldn't hold.

Yet, no tale of mass,
Mass by people.
Feelings, heart all clash
I succumbed to this whirlpool.

Alone, a name I harness,
While I didn't heed
For I never learnt of loneliness,
Until you were all I'd need.
All I'd need.

I'm in a constant reverie,
Morosely contemplating the glistening, vivid, sky
that contrasts with the remnants of earth and vibrant, coloured, flowers.

I turn my gaze to the sea,
not far-off, that seems to splash and crash
in sync with the swaying leaves.

I imagine if the body of water was a physical being,
it would be more powerful than I.
Every muscle, every cell, feels weak within me.
Although, if I had to pick between the sea and the sky,
I would have to choose the sky.

I'd Feel the wind forcibly blowing my face as I
fly with no responsibilities ahead of me.
I could finally be free from every thought,
every 'checkpoint' individuals expect me to achieve.

Since it's not possible, I decide to at least feel the thrill
instead, by jumping off this obscure building,
where mother nature is fighting to take over.

But as my feet leave the ground,
I realize—no fall will truly free me
Maybe freedom is found in the sky within,
where thought and wind can finally cease.

the flowers died on monday
the clouds cried on tuesday
the sky screamed on wednesday
the sun dimmed on thursday
the stars hid on friday
mother nature weeped on saturday
the earth spun on on sunday

What is a life,
with no fail?
It is a ship
That cannot sail

What is a life,
with no pain?
It is a life
That has no gain

What is a life,
with no risk?
It is a body
That's frail and weak

What is a life,
where no one's ill?
It is a life
You cannot feel