ideas of adventure rattle my chest
wanderlust sweaters knitted in my skin
and I can never take them off
i lace fingers with skylines
kiss a breeze in the sheets of rain
fall in love with the heart beats setting the earth to rhythm
and i can never forget my first love
they're always dancing
a synchronize syncopation of elation
around the one they truly loved
and I fell to the force of things I could not understand
but they never stopped dancing,
and i could never anchor them down
they laced my energy around them
and I'm lost to forever wandering
experiencing all my love's beauties
learning every curve of their spine
teasing their goosebumps when only the moon is awake
running over every scar and memory
and I'm infinitely, unshakably in love with every piece of you
every nation and country
every land mass and ocean
every bird and mammal
every tree and leaf
and I'm in love with every soul and energy

Someday,
I would finally stop
writing about you.
Someday,
you won't have
that kind of power
over me anymore.

DO POETRY
AND LIFE REMAINS TO POVERTY
YET POET CONTINUE TO LIVE IN HIS WORLD
FOR HIM A PALACE
WHERE HE IS THE KING
AND WORDS ARE HIS SOLDIER

HIS WORDS BREATHE
KNOCK AT THE DOORMAN'S HEART
UTTERED "LET THE SOUL COME IN"
SOME SAYING GREAT
OTHERS SAYS IT'S USELESS DOESN'T MEAN A THING
SOME ARE TOO BUSY THAT THEY HAVE NO TIME FOR A SOUL

BUT WHERE THOSE POET'S WORDS CAME FROM?
AN ANGEL WHISPER, PARTLY YES
BECAUSE HE WROTE ABOUT PIOUS LIFE
OR A DEVIL UTTERANCE, PARTLY YES
HE ALSO WROTE THOSE PROHIBITED WORDS
BUT NO, POETS FOLLOWED HIS OWN WILL

WHO ARE REALLY THEY THEN?
A SHARP MINDED PERSON
AS BRILLIANT AS DIAMOND
NO, THEIR MINDS ARE JUST LIKE THE OTHERS
SEEN THINGS THAT THEY'VE ALSO SEEN
BUT HE PUT THEM IN WORDS

HE WASTED A LOT OF TIME
BUT THE TIME WASTED WAS RECORDED
OF THE BEST MOMENT
AND OF THE WORST ONE
LEAVING DAYS ONE BY ONE
YET IN EACH DAY HIS TRADEMARK FOR REMINISCENCE

POETS PASSED BUT THEIR  POEMS CONTINUE
GENERATIONS COMES AND GO BUT THEIR PASSION DWELT
WAITING FOR THE HOMAGE THAT SOMEONE WILL GIVE
BUT THE TRUTH IS POET LOOKS FOR NOTHING IN RETURN
JUST SOMEONES TIME FOR HIS WORK
THE BEST PAYMENT THAT POET'S FIND

Written: Jan. 22, 2000 @ 4:35pm
Mysterious Aries

Let me tell you the story of my death:

Carving words on the bark of a tree
A poem that means life to me.
Glows through night, my soul delights!

        "Exist beyond my death, oh please...
            So I could live in bliss at least."

But they cut the tree, so mindlessly
Illegally. ****, selfishly!
In chainsaw, I was murdered.

        A massacre,
      ... a massacre of my every being!!

I'm a ghost that forgot, the best in me
Now writes relentlessly
To relive the words, once killed in greed
I found the "papers*", the poems you lead...

Then before me, is some piece of me
they killed.

I died a hero,

_____________

The radiance of my pen was already ebbed
My outcry seem now, not that much effective
But this could not be the hindrance for me to go on
For as long as my pen breath I won't ceased

But foe owed a vigor and have a lot of arms
That it needs a miracle for them to be ruined
But as a mark of history, armor was defeated by a pen
That wisdom count most than those of precious gem

But now indeed the battle was not mostly of war
Instead a disease that ruled the heart of many earthlings
That thy deeds sound very earsplitting
Do I have enough ink to calm their flame?

But maybe this time I was destined to be defeated
For I am weak and one breath away to death
Oh sky!  I should be dead! But this i'm quite sure
That my pen will continue to battle....


written: June 14, 2001 @ 9:00 AM

Mysterious Aries

This world I see before me
Full of flowers and blossom trees
Sometimes these nights get so dry
Watching the stars go by

Twisted bones and a twist of luck
Never wanted this all that much
Reach for the stars and youll land on the moon
Its time for my dreams to start coming true  

Another day spent getting up before dawn
Attempting to be perfect, two hours later its wrong
Breaking bones burning skin
And one year later, I am still not fitting in

I want to work for my silver lining
So tired of cooking, all it was, was timing
Step outside the comfort zone,
I wont take the easy road

Pick up the pen, put down the spoon
Writing before dawn, still going around noon
This is what I want to do,
Its time for my dreams to start coming true

Poetry is my *****
Deep words get me high
Writing so quenches my thirst,
I'd **** for any rhyme

i can write your name into my skin over and over
but it doesn't matter how many times i translate these feelings into verses
and convert my longing into lines

i can never write myself into your story

i’m searching for words that do not exist
grasping for something in the matterless air
they call it writer’s block
but i feel much more disconnected than blocked
as if overnight someone had unplugged
all the cords to my creativity
my mind feels dim and dissolved
a damp empty space
having no mass but seeping into my heart
the nothingness fills me up
and i stare hopelessly
at the blank page in front of me