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Cee Valenso May 2016
At a distance, a harp begins to play
Mellifluous tunes attempting to capture the heart astray
Every single note pleasant to the ears
Every note reviving the comatose fears

Beautiful is the song as it is enchanting
Through agile fingers, a masterpiece in the making
But as the riveting sound cavorts the insipid walls
Dispelled memories return like raging falls

Strumming the strings equate a pronounced invitation
Melodic verses transmogrify into proposed elation
But the rhythm is alarmingly familiar
Whose end averts from the spectacular

The harps plays, the harp sings
Obnoxious bells produce clamorous rings
For the songs it sings are dulcet
But the notes may be disguised bayonettes

The comely harp will continue creating its art
A fragile bubble vulnerable to approaching darts
As the music invades every corner
May the north be an inexorable commander
Cee Valenso May 2016
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet clad in branded shoes
Adventurous, brazen fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering sunflowers with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions enticing pairs of hands
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, and I willingly give in
Summer petals weaken the gullible heart
The summer petals abandon the gullible heart
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet now bare
Adventurous, brazen fingers now dormant

One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet clad in cheap shoes
Curious fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering white daisies with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions spring once more
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, yet again I give in
Winter petals capture the derelict heart
The winter petals emulate mirrors after caressing the ramshackle heart
One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet once again bare, now calloused
Curious fingers now cautious

One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet hesitating to be covered
Vacillating fingers mapping the wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions surface once more
Pristine dandelions displaying subtle coquetry
And I stall, for heaven's sake, I stall
Fall petals demonstrate its desire to the heart
The fall petals fall but the bitter heart hangs on a silk thread
One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet discovers a rhythm
A rhythm so unpleasant, so abhorrent
Vacillating fingers now curl
Curl into the palm in resistance
Cee Valenso Apr 2016
Listen. I'm not silent.
In fact, I'm immensely talkative.
I have a loud mind that produces battalions of statements daily.

I am talkative.

Words egress from my lips like rivers flowing to vast seas.
I speak of my aspirations, dreams, and visions for the future.
I brag about my strengths and feats that I have achieved.
I impart my knowledge and discoveries to the curious.

I am not silent.

I share my experiences and learnings to elicit self-reflection.
I exclaim my inspirations and interests with much enthusiasm.

I was never silent.

I admit my weaknesses, insecurities, and fears with difficulties.
I enumerate my quirks and oddities despite hesitating.
I disclose my secrets and sins that marred me.

Why do you call me silent?

I elaborate my thoughts and my whims on the spot.
I sing my favorite rhymes, lullabies, and songs that are more than just mellifluous melodies.

How can you call me silent?

I utter peculiar lines and cryptic metaphors in varying tones.
I narrate stories of friendships, love, romance, and passion in diverse forms.
I spit verses of hatred, greed, atrocity, and apathy with vehemence.
I scream what's taboo, ******, unconventional, and abhorrent unabashedly.

There is absolutely no space in my mouth for silence.
I am not silent and my lips are not closed.
Your eyes are just covered, and you do not know how and when to listen.
Cee Valenso Mar 2016
An eccentric museum accepting visitors even at midnight
Diverse artworks littered the walls
The artworks were the walls
And there you were, a mediocre painting
Barely beautiful, but intensely intriguing

Such an ordinary painting as you have caught my attention
Contained in a frame created out of flimsy, cheap wood
With curves and lines not deemed comely by standards
But to me, in a way, appealing
You bear revolting edges which deplores me
But pleasant colors fill some of your space

Far from magnificent, greatly lacking to be a masterpiece
These hands of mine tremble with want to refine you
I've got paintbrushes for fingers, tubes of visions for colors
Dexterous are my hands as my mind is creative
Let my touches sketch your path to grandeur

But you are your own art, you are your own
The words reverberate within my skull
I chain my own hands down and battle with the urge
If I cannot appreciate you, I shan't recreate you
One last stare, before I look away
Cee Valenso Mar 2016
Fireworks splattered across the copious firmament
But no sparks erupted in the crevasses of my arteries
Deafening screams and clamorous cheers shook the night
But the gentle wind whispered no promises
There were flames, colossal flames
But the arctic frost still blanketed my ribs
And there was smoke, every contact produced smoke
But fire hasn't kissed the gaps between my knuckles

There was everything
In everything, there was nothing
And in nothingness, I breathe.

In nothingness, I clutch the sheets.
Cee Valenso Mar 2016
I am captivated by her raven orbs
And I get lost in her unfathomable irises
Only to be reminded of your blinding sunshines
Your resplendent flares replacing her curled lashes

In her charming smiles, I remember your bliss
Her blood red lips evoke memories long dismissed

I listen to her faint footsteps on the midnight sidewalk
It resembles the solemn rhythm of your pulse
And I succumb into the wildfire that she is
But it is your warmth that still lingers on my skin

While she admires the breathtaking moonlight
I remember how our constellation adorned my dark nights

Mundane eyes dwell in my sockets
The pair has watched hundreds of monochrome sunsets
But an image of her is a burst of vivid colors
Eliciting excitement in my gray heart

But at the sight of her colors, there is you
Your faded portraits obstruct the new
Cee Valenso Feb 2016
King of the vast lands is he
For uncountable times he fell down
Laborious is to stand tall and proud
For many times, the ground kissed his crown

It is he who basks on the throne
The epitome of greatness and power
But for the army dwelling behind his lids
Never was he the commander

Single-handedly built his grand castle
Every brick is a dismal memory
Deserted hallways, desolate rooms
Visitors have been banned entry

But one day, his towers littered with fire canons
Shall be utilized for descrying the starry night
And through the cracks on the colossal walls
The sun shall penetrate him with light
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