With this paper and pen, I vow..
To voice out the volumes of words left unsaid.
To spell out the silence of the secrets left unspoken.
I vow,
That my sonnets will speak the language our spirits haven't figured out yet,
That the lines of my limericks will lyric the songs our souls haven't sung yet,
That my haikus will hold and heal our haggard hearts,
That...
My words, wether in prose of verse, written, spoken, raw or rehearsed will silence the voices in our heads, listen..

I vow that the ink of my pen will be the flavor of sweat driven by my anxiety,
It will be volumes of tears wept silently,
It will be the crimson color of the the blood on my wrists that clot and bleed and clot and bleed,
I vow that the ink of my pen will be every last ounce of me.

With ink-stained fingers and paper cuts
I pledge my heart..
To the craft that sets my soul apart
To weave tales that transport and transform
To conjure worlds that readers can form
I vow to chase the muse, wherever she may roam
To follow the story, no matter how it may roam
To craft characters that breathe and bleed
To write words that whisper secrets, and plant seeds
To weave a tapestry of tales, both old and new
To breathe life into characters, and see them through
To craft a narrative that whispers secrets in the ear
And leaves a lasting impact, long after the final tear
To bare my soul, and share my innermost thoughts
And to write with passion, until the words are caught
And weave a tale that resonates, and remains
To leave a mark on the page, that will forever stay.

With this paper and this pen, I I vow to be raw...
And impregnate you with a REALNESS that reaches for a reality beyond reason and rationality...
AND
I vow that every RHYME will touch you deeper than a lovers kiss and will lingers just little bit longer than reality...
I vow to make love to you with my words,
Captivate you with my poetry.
For better or worse, beginning to end,
I vow for this to be more than just paper and pen.


-Nachiyobe

How wonderfully divine
It is to be human;
To hold mortality in the mind,
And infinity inside.
Behind
My eyes are boundaries of grey,
yet,
A promise so colorful.
And I am thankful, for
I have claimed it
Ten thousand times over.

“We all need a promised land”
Carole King, “Been to Canaan”
<>
the lyric tickles
like the worst itch imaginable
and consequently consuming
demands this
old boy pay attention

it’s so true, it’s so devious,
we strike our temples
for failing to see the obvious,
throw, roll
our bodies on the damp ground,
like the dead of whom
it’s said
will roll to the
promised land
when the messiah will come(1)

but meantime
we thrash about
not knowing
what
is
a promised land,
let alone how to get there

perhaps
the promised land
is within the
states of our mind;
need to travel there,
just prepare
to jump, dive deeper
than living a life
of ice skating upon the surface
of wasted existence's of
grinding grinning
day in, day out

unroll our sleeping bags,
our ruksak pillow,
examine the stars locations,
when morning breaks,
pick up you leavings
behind,
and roll
roll ourselves up,
onto, can~do,
Canaan

In his arrogance, he promised her the World

In his defeat, all he could afford her was his heart

In reality, his heart was all she ever wanted

It meant the World to her