When Written

So many ideas to write about, but I barely find time to write.  I jot them down, those thoughts I thought that seem more when written.  But I never get to contemplate and more so to put the words down.  At least I would this time, this short while.  To write again to welcome the rain past summer greens.

Impending

An inevitability of conflicts
We bring a smite for false peace' sake
But over days the building crumbles
 And left is slow decay.

Chaos impend upon us
If only we are wiser, we would know.
But now we but pray our follies T
o deafness fringe.

Written Thoughts

There are words before written must be thought and boxed.  For all the dark shadows of lingered thoughts, there are clear counterparts freed upon the summer sky.

Each idea is a dichotomy.  And where it shall be known is the dilemma.  Only one lives in the real world, and the other, in the beautiful imaginary world.  Tonight is tails.

Lost

The past days and weeks and months have gone without an audible word. Though life never stood still, my thoughts have remained silent in their anguish.  I feel lost.  What am I writing?  When all I can say that I wish I can live in my dreams instead of living my dreams?  I have no recourse but to stay strong.  Or at least to appear strong, as a mountain is unmoving.  Despite my weak heart, and a mind that seeks but without companion.  Lost.

Things are happening around, and I am atrociously unaware.  The comes and goes of people close to my heart have become peripheral to the labor of my soul.  Large happenings happen before I catch the stale wind of interpretation.  Lost.

Vitamins

I just got my second serving of Vitamin B in less than 24 hours, and I feel already bad, mentally unnerved.  I think I need water to survive.  Maybe.  Will it help?

Lost in an Upscale World

I live with people of this upscale world, whose world revolves around fantasies of the rich and famous, whose excessive luxury they've made their idols --  palaces in suburbia whose land grow scandalous precious, fine dining ambiance like oases in the desert, glittering stones stolen from the earth and the people, and pleasures of the body to escape the small sufferings decidedly they've no right to experience.

Yet I do not belong here.   Suburbia on the hilltop demands unacceptable irony.  The foods of affluence are reprehensible gluttony in the face of poverty.  Gold and diamonds are but shallow shades compared to inner beauty.  And the business of pleasure is not as true as life and health lived strongly and purposefully.

I chase for happiness, but mine is not to be found in these upscale seclusion.  It's like an unlit cell in a dungeon beneath the earth.  My heart yearns for simplistic adventures, to share simple wonders of diversity of class and culture.  But in this monoculture prison I am trapped.  I am beholden to man in his evolution.  But now I'm chained.

Out of Place

Lost in a crowd of colored tables,
What am I doing here?
Out of place in the chattery,
I sat for what passes as eternity.

My supposed companion has gone
Away in her own affairs
Oblivious in her own conversations
To my state of sorry disposition.

Perhaps she has forgotten
Perhaps that is certain
To make me feel her insensitivity
In ways she does not understand.

Winter's Song

It used to be a precious melody
Charting the winds of summer.
It was a song of promise
Rhyming with no rhythm

But a siren's dance has shown color
And truth has beset unwelcome.
Its melancholic march grows steady
To the emptiness of the funeral.

Then there was not a heart to listen
Or one reasonable mind to imagine.
Only deaf ears which knew but noise
And now not even one at all.

The notes sounded their dying,
Resigned to a dissonant chord.
And from there the horizon
Was left only bittersweet silence.

Photos in Black and Gray

I have imagined pictures, from years gone by,
till now and tomorrow, how I would have painted them,
Each an intersection of curiosity and simplicity,
Or otherwise an extrication of angles unseen.

They're colored black or none at all,
Or of all the infinite grays of the digital mind,
And before each I hide my memories.
I close my eyes at last, and smile.

There they were the photographs in my mind,
Space-less, stretching through the depths of black.

Cold Fingers

Long ago, I welcomed summer.  She carried its breath of reality, unattended by man-made artifice.  Then, I ran carefree, through the forest of innocent dreams.  On the green grass foliage, my slumbers were peace.  Nature was with me.  Summer made me strong, and invincible against the rain.

But the season has moved and I was suddenly left alone.   Years passed in one moon's voyage.  The days in my room are cold.  Unwelcome tendrils embrace me without the warmth of the natural sun.  I lie awake listless, somehow aware but unable against the winter of my heart.

This is not the dream I innocently dreamed.  It wasn't nights of winter where every night is cold and disharmony.  I long for the summer of long ago.

A Martian Song

This is for the girl who told me before that special surprise birthday gifts aren't for us who just aren't in.
Well, she's a friend, and sometimes, that's all that matters.  So I want to say, happy birthday.
 
~~~

I met a girl a year ago and she came from far away
From where she came I didn't know, and she couldn't and wouldn't say

But then I just thought how it's all good because she's here to really stay
So we can be friends, no matter what, come what may.

She'd say I'm weird and make a face whenever I say something out of place
Well, sometimes I'm like from outer space, but with her I can be me, I'm quite amazed.

And then I believe it's really cool I've known her now, she's here to stay
I won't forget her, no matter what, come what may.

At times she just loves to stare at the stars
As if there's something calling her there from afar
A secret smile and swirling thoughts around her
Then she'd says strange things like how she misses Mars.

Then suddenly, I just found her gone one day
Where she might have gone, she never did say.
Maybe now she is happy home so far away
Still in my heart, no matter what, she's here to stay.

Maybe one day, I will go looking for her,
I know I'll see her again, somehow, somewhere
When I can travel to planet Mars or Jupiter.

Christmas Gifts

The frantic pace of thought
As time races Christmas
Have merry gifts been bought?
For persons loved by us

Smile on the face, we have
Just to say, we thank you
A simple box of love
And to mean, we love you

A joy around to share
Just one time 'round the year
Yuletide days remember
Faces we hold so dear

Smile on the face, we give
Just to say, we thank you
This present, please believe
It says we care for you

For you to remember
I appreciate true
For friendships forever
This Christmas gift, for You

Memories to Realities

And time comes so near to closing
Will I still remember after?
When ends arrive what justice, what meaning?

Yet, hope we do
That an era greets another
With fruition and purpose

But are we left,
With just thoughts to remember?
But still, they're dear, still, memories.

And so we move on
To what ever future may call for,
But one last thing, please do not forget.

A simple promise, just this...
Remember.


Time moves around, speed of light,
And no, such simplicity
Cannot be allowed if it has to have meaning

Memories to realities,
Find me, and I find you
When that moment comes at last

When we meet again,
Let us still remain,
And that age, let us make real

Not just to remember
But to make things last forever
Find you, befriend me, take care of us

A better promise, thank you
Memories to realities.

Insomnia

The hours before another morning withers away as I lay awake listlessly.  I lost grasp of unconsciousness.  And now I struggle to blank my mind of everyday tasks that surround me unforgivingly. 

I adjusted the thermostat, thinking of bears hibernating.  But the air does not seem to get cooler.  What if I can just hibernate?  And then, wake up when?  I don't know.  I don't know if I would want to wake up.  Sleep has its perks, and dreams can be reimagined.  Until my body feels the pain of extended sleep.

The last time I couldn't sleep, a nightmarish thought kept hounding me.  I saw her kissed somebody else.  It was a thoughtless kiss.  But perhaps the thoughtlessness of it should have alarmed me more.  Then perhaps, I would not be in my predicament. 

A lot of perhaps.  That dreams only make possible.

Words without Love

If I cannot speak love, I shall be silent.  For life is short, such only love makes meaningful. If I were not to profess with words alive, there will only be emptiness left beyond rich love.  For my silent heart knows no more words but you.  Take it away, and I shall be silent forever.

The Red Moon

The moon shone red this day.  With it came the mad sickness that slowly engulfed solitary spirits.  The angry moon knew the hearts of those it gazed upon, and every little fount of loneliness feeds it with unearthly darkness.  It was a darkness that grew onto itself, and multiplied as itself wickedly consumed the abject hearts of miserable souls.

Perhaps there would be no dawn anymore.  Dawn would be treacherous, when all that would be left would be shadows of yesterday.  

A Dance With Silence

I have never written a testimonial to anyone.  I never bothered, perhaps believing I didn't have words that could capture what I think about any particular person.   Sometimes, I took things too seriously that I put myself into an insurmountable position of inaction.  But the truth was, I never tried and took the time to just do.

...I didn't particularly expect that you seem to understand me that well.  But words do come to their own.  The writer's hand can listen as well as write.  The reader's eyes can say as much as read.  But beneath a truth said by your testimonial, I realize that it is followed by a problem I have lived most of my life with.  Man is not an island.  It is not enough that I am.  But I also do.  Everyone is different in his/her understanding of matters, and understanding is a matter of relations, and thus of doing.

...

I've always been silent.  Have I always been that way?  I wonder...   There is a truth to that -- I'd tell a lot and say a little.  I might say something.  But that may only mean I'm not saying a lot of things...

Sometimes, when I write, I only touch several thoughts without giving them tangible forms.  The world is full of interests and wonders.  And we only live fleeting moments compared to the vastness there is...

Why do you believe that every human being is happy?  Should we perhaps attempt to know what happiness is, before we can discuss?  If I attempt to interpret what you mean, I can by chance imagine an avenue by which what you say makes sense.  But happiness to everyone can be so different, in a practical level.  In our limited persons, we can only seek to define, and then pose a truth.  I think I am happy.  But what does that say?  I can be happy about something and be unhappy about something.  But then, if one asks me, I know that I will say I am happy.

... what lead you to ask the question of religion?  I must say, however, but that I am Catholic is not an issue that I have given a lot of deep "faithful" thoughts.  It maybe a simple refusal to concretize my ideas on God, or a refusal to dismiss ideas that seem to run contrary to popular Catholic beliefs.  I dislike rigidity and a closed system.  Is that lack of faith?  But consider that I come from a scientific and mathematical background.  I like logic.  Is God ideal?  There are elements, mysteries in religion that do not conform to my background.  Those aspects I have no answer for, or can answer only in a limited way, I usually defer thoughts on.

And there I go again.  I write while dwelling in abstractions.  Did I say so little?  Yes, words do have a life of their own.  And words dance with silence.  We need to listen.

-from a correspondence between two strangers

Loneliness

I am not a stranger, insofar as having feelings of being alone.  They come and I live with them, defending myself against them through rationalization, getting it off my mind, diverting myself to happy thoughts.  But nevertheless, the feelings of loneliness aren't always easy to brush off.  They creep at me and stay deep, leaving me feeling cold and wanting.  They make me feel envious, sad, lacking.  What can one do to not feel alone?  It might bring about feelings of regrets, of wanting to change his or her past, and the feeling of utter hopelessness that comes with it. 

- from a correspondence between two angels

That Which Fell

A soft unexpected thud reverberated ephemeral in the silence of the room.  I occupied it alone in this early morning's wintry rain.  Such little things gave me keen notice and I reacted plainly to find that which fell.

My eyes dutifully scanned the ill-lit floor but found nothing out of place.  There was nothing, yet I was certain it was somewhere.  My ears have not started to deceive me so strongly yet, though I knew that at times I hear memories of songs and humming that I banish for my foolish imagination.

I understood those that I hear as interpolations of my mind to the machineries of time and calculus.  Yet I was afraid.  They disturbed me, my fears.

That which fell.  I would be compelled to find it however hidden from my eyes.  To my ears it was unabashedly announced.

Such little thing, this obsession.  This is my insanity.

Electron Death

The cleaner was frantic when she called me about the explosion.  I coolly marched to the scene of interest.  It smelled burnt, a wreckage.  Lights were dead.  My first instinct was to try to switch on the lights but she stopped me --  they at least wanted to be farther from where I was when I do something.   Strange people who fear.  Now I was back, lost, thinking of death.  There's nothing for me to do. 


I looked at the breaker in earnest, trying to read out the faded labels with the dim light from my phone.  Nothing to see there.  The rather aged breakers appeared unremarkable, except...  one seemed to have glistening marks of condensation.  Must have been from some leakage due to rain and shoddy water proofing.  These problems never ceased.

I tried to see better, but I was again stopped.  He must have thought I was planning to touch the board, though I only meant to look close.  "It was dangerous," he said, "there's still current going."  He shut down the mains.  I was left alone in the dark so I walked back the way I came.  Nothing.