Same ground

How could we be on the same ground when we are poles, worlds, galaxies apart?

Why do I engage in self-denial when I should know better now?

Who can tell when I’m ready to be myself again?

Do I feel bad about what happened? Am I still bitter?

Alternately, I feel at ease and in pain. Alternately, I am found and lost. Alternately, I find my heart free and held captive. Alternately, I live as I die and die as I live.

Will this ever come to pass? How soon can I expect my redemption?

Why can’t I be the old person that I was? Why can’t I be wiser as I am older?

So much question to answer, so little time to dwell on them. So little will to direct the heart that’s gone feeble.

It is a wonder when inspiration strikes and makes me able to write as I used to.

I’ve waited for this moment to come, waited long and impatiently at that.

Then here it is now. Inspired or bored by a song I am listening to, the important thing is I am able to write again.

POET-REE

Coming home to empty spaces

Running through sands of time

Singing dirges under moonlight

Discovering known and unknown delights

03.26.08

Reason

Rules over
Every deed or
Act performed
Sanity is preserved
Ostensibly for the good
Nothing escapes reason.


Feeling

Fretful over petty things
Earns the juvenile moniker
Each tentative action shows of the
Longing forlornly
In isolated confusion
Not wanting anything to do with the world
Gone numb, beyond feeling.


Emotion

Elucidates inner longings of the heart
Made visible through windows
Of the soul
Teetering on high wire or
Icy cold as snow
Occult of the senses
Never ending display of emotion.


Hurt

Haunts me even in my sleep
Undulating rhythm of pain in my heart
Rhetoric made useless
Treading eggshell-covered path of hurt.


Rage

Running through my veins
Anger at its boiling point
Gone is the reason that so governs
Empathy lost to rage.


Courage

Coaxes one to go on
Over every hill or mountain
Unmindful of impediments along the way
Reaching for the goal
And taking on the challenge
Gladdens the heart of
Everyone who has courage.

Life

Life’s expectancy springs forth from the womb
Forces play their part
In the cycle of birth and rebirth

Meaning means nothing now
Words come unbidden
Bungled art that’s never art
Contrived and pretentious as I am

Clear as day, dark as night
I plunge into the abyss
No one to save me from drowning
But my own senses coming to

I lie in wait, biding
Time, time, time
Restless I fall to my dreamless sleep.

?

Cloistered life in the beginning
A Lark trapped in a cage, singing
Still Air punctuated periodically
The Iron grills tapped, witness mutely
Rebirth of a prisoner in its sad plight
Its Extraordinary beauty coming to light.

"Why are you crying? Is something wrong?", I asked ME.

ME answered with another question, "Should there always be something wrong for a person to cry?"

"Does that mean you're happy then?", I asked again.

"Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I just found myself crying. But it sure feels good to have my eyes washed with a few tears." ME countered wiping at her face.

I frowned a little. ME is probably just a little sad or melancholic.

"Do you want to go out for a pizza?" I know ME can hardly refuse an offer of great pizza. But this time she begged off.

"I don't feel like going out even for a pizza.", ME said turning away. "I'll just lie down a bit or sleep this off. Thanks for asking, anyway."

"You're welcome. Just call me if you're feeling better. We'd get that pizza some other day."

"Okay. See you later." ME is halfway to her room already.

I looked on after ME has closed the door. I wonder "Could it be about her life again? Why can't she just take it as it is? Life isn't always fair and the sooner ME accepts that, the better off she'll be."

I stood to get my coat and headed for the door. I'd probably get that pizza by myself after all.

My Angel

I believe each of us has an angel of our own. I feel my angel is brown-eyed, a little mischievous and always has a smile on its face. I'm not sure if it's a he or a she. All I know is that it has tried to infect me with its youthful enthusiasm and love for life for the longest time. It has tried to infuse in me the humour that my dry, usually sardonic countenance can't quite accept. It has tried to rub off in me its exuberance in things good and beautiful.

Well, for the beautiful part I believe I can accept. I am not an artist in any way. Well, at least not the visual artist. Nor am I good at kinesthetic art. I don't know how to dance. I tried to do lap dance once (haha!) with my siblings for an audience and what a sight I was. Ask them how bad or passable it was and they'll try to be kind. Even then, I appreciate beauty in all its form. I like to look at paintings. I can appreciate good music and I love to read. I do consider books an art form. Well, isn't it?

Going back to my angel, I imagine it to be my opposite. It has a graceful air about itself. It carries itself well and definitely has flesh in all the right places unlike my skinny self. It probably has a violin or a guitar with it instead of the usual harp. It could even be dressed simply. What I'm certain about is its eye color - brown. Why the fascination for brown eyes? I don't know. Or maybe I do...

It still has a lot of work to do with me. Like the angel of Azucena in The Law of Love, it surely is having a hard time making me listen to its voice. You see, I can be as hardheaded as Azucena herself. Well, the book is another story though. I guess at this point I am trying to be in touch with my angel. I will try to listen more closely or to be quiet more often. That way, I may find it easier to discern what it is trying to tell me. I'd give an account if I do get to the point of being in touch with my brown-eyed angel.