May 25, 2016 @ 2:48am
She switches the last light off to go to bed,
and her room is only illuminated by the moonlight
that escapes the night sky and seeps through the slits of her window.
"That's beautiful" she thinks,
but soon enough questions the validity of that statement.
What she found beautiful was unnatural, not spontaneous.
It was the bare minimum of nature,
for it was only a light;
light, which man did not create,
but could reproduce.
What she saw was a rare sighting of nature making its way into her man-made dwelling,
amongst a jungle of more concrete buildings.
Concrete floors,
concrete walls,
all created by concrete minds,
minds filled with innovation.
Then she thought again.
It was beautiful.
In her concrete jungle she found people of concrete hearts and eyes that could not see,
eyes filled with concrete.
It wasn't that it was not beautiful,
but that no one else was looking where she was,
no one else could participate in this sighting,
because she was alone within the cold walls of her home.
The moonlight did not keep her warm;
in fact, its silver slivers made her cry cold tears
and she realized that her heart was frozen.
Her hardships had made her cold and unforgiving.
Her eyes filled with concrete, like everyone else,
judged others she didn't even know with cynicism.
Except now.
Crying in the moonlight had humbled her and made her realize how lonely she was,
and how she longed to share this secret,
this affair with the moon and the stars,
with someone else in order to open their concrete eyes.
The moonlight grew weaker as she watched it continue to seep through,
as if she was absorbing its luminous and mysterious beauty.
"I'll change the world one day," she thought,
"or at least, my world."
She kissed the moonlight farewell,
and before she drifted to dream,
she said, "Goodnight, moon."
June 26, 2016 @ 12:23am
Go and watch the ocean waves.
Sit at the edge of the top of the sand
and watch the love affair between the tide and the shore.
It comes close,
but it never touches you.
Your eyes draw to the horizon,
past the crashing waves,
and you picture yourself getting farther
and farther away from the shore.
There may be land out there,
but you don't have the courage to chase your daydreams.
The mist of the water layers over your body,
but you don't notice
because you wonder where the sun sets,
and why it kisses the water.
Your mind wanders out there,
and drowns your heart
----------------------------
Go with the wind and reach the shore.
Crash just before,
and let the foam kiss the sand at the edge.
You come close,
but you never touch him.
Your eyes draw to him,
sitting atop the sand,
and you picture yourself reaching closer and closer to him.
He may sit there for a while,
but he's looking past you.
and you can only hope to unbury his toes from the sand.
You want to reach him,
but you don't have the strength of a tsunami;
and even if you did,
you wouldn't want to destroy what you touch.
You look back and see the sun kiss the water,
and curse the moon for not creating higher tides.
You turn back towards the shore,
and see he came closer,
stuck his feet in,
then ran away from the shore.
August 14, 2017 @ 5:14pm
It's been a year
since the ocean made me cry salt tears,
since I let the ocean drown my fears.
The edge of the water soaks the sand,
and it's time for us to go across the land,
as we say our goodbyes to friends.
We can't see the exchange of kisses,
the way the ocean catches the sun and misses,
but we throw our coins and make our wishes,
and the foam just hisses.
Each day each hour each minute is spent,
wondering where our time together went,
how we plan to chase the dreams we slept,
but the ocean keeps our skin wet.
As the wind blows the waves,
and our minds and hearts start to crave,
we wonder if we can be brave,
and exchange our sandy footprints for our futures to pave.
It is no longer he and the shore,
but each of us yearning for more.
A year ago he dipped his feet and ran from the shore,
but not out of greed or fear or because he wasn't sure
but because it wasn't his time to drown and venture,
and find the ocean's hidden treasures.
The sea no longer chases us,
for we ride the wind like dust,
and the sea no longer curses the moon,
for we will all see each other soon.
June 10, 2016 @ 1:34am
I'm all alone,
yet it's so noisy.
The thoughts that twist my brain and
break my heart are all too noisy.
But how could I call them noisy,
when a whisper of my soul is no louder
than my heart screaming?
A composure made of soundproof glass is what keeps my sanity,
but the transparency of the glass can't hide my emotions,
my raging affliction.
She knows,
because she listens.
Her heart is not too far from her ears,
not like the others who gave theirs away
along with their compassion.
And soon I'll lose my hearing
because the affairs they have with their
own hearts are too loud.
And when I lose my auditory sense,
I'll lose communication,
even with myself.
No longer can I hear my own heart;
its screams just above a whisper.
In my state of isolation I wonder,
when did the nights stop comforting me?
Because now I feel as if I'm sleepwalking through my days,
and being along with my thoughts keep me from my slumber.
Enveloped in the dark I was content,
for I could paint the dark sky in dreams and desires.
But now I can't hear,
and the deafening cloak of the darkness
scares me as I wait for creatures to come devour me.
Hopefully they'll find my heart,
and maybe in an instance of danger
my heart will break its silence
and I'll hear again the person I was,
the girl who dreamt and hoped and loved.
But for now,
she's silent.
Her heart weeps,
but it's too noisy for her to listen to her own heart.
Looking through the sound proof glass
is a girl who smiles,
for that was the last thing her heart felt,
before it went silent.
June 28, 2016 @ 2:57am
I looked in the mirror today.
I wasn't happy with what I saw,
but what I saw didn't shock.
The light in my bathroom flickers now,
it's about to go out,
give in,
give up.
I thought it was the lighting,
but it was the look in my eye.
Dark and full,
but I could see the flickering light shining in them,
hope flickering in me.
It's about to go out,
give in,
give up.
My lips were pale,
but not chapped.
My kiss with death would still have to be sweet.
My resting face was a frown,
my frown showed I need rest,
and the rest was all the same.
It was the same stare for a long time.
I expected her to cry,
but she didn't.
She was known for her strength,
but I knew her for her lack of compassion.
She wasn't afraid of the dark.
She knew if that light flickered one last time,
that everything would stay the same.
The dark eyes, stuff nose, pale lips,
all would suspend in space.
They needed space,
but she needed comfort.
So then,
the light flickered on last time,
her dark eyes filled the room,
and she was comfortable at last.