31 December 2010

two hundred-two.

they come, they pass.

it crowns my heart with sorrow
to hear the breaking news, to hear
the taking news, that lives have been
taken. taken. taken knew it was coming
to take someone new.
sue came inside to commit suicide and
that made my eyes run dry, staring at
the opportunity to help save, i couldn't blink
i stopped to think
inevitable.
inevitable.
taken knows it's inevitable.
taken knows that they come to pass.
that they come, to go.
taken knows, but doesn't wait
to take.

30 December 2010

my words get away.

i can't seem to locate the muzzle i bought to restrict my words from getting away. i don't mean for them to reach certain ears and certain eyes, but they always find a way to. and when they do, they get sad when they get neglected but i told them! i promise, i warned them! some people just don't have the balls to express what they received when they received what was expressed. now, they're in training to learn to be ok with that.

28 December 2010

two hundred-one.

his testimonial.

and upon his arrival
people swept his feet
with great praises and
loud wailing, but
within seconds,
he disappeared
as if he were never
even there,
just a mirage inheriting
countless praises.
and just like that,


he was gone.

27 December 2010

two hundred.

education coming to a halt.

room filled with empty

heads

information spilling from the
lips of instructors, ears closing
at the breath of every last word said.

heads

filled with complete emptiness

while education is begged for in countries
across the globe, across the globe children in
homes pleading to the parents for the opportunity

appreciation

grew legs to walk out the door of those
who are opportune to the acquisition of
a stable institution, one who keeps them going.

but they choose to neglect,
we choose to neglect, the elevation
from the information that is presented to us

we choose
we have choice
we have reasoning.

but we choose to sit and abuse the
rooms in buildings constructed to learn,
made to teach, made to "grow."

and then we stop to wonder where our money goes.

26 December 2010

one hundred-ninety nine.

the seas fisherman.

how i know you loved me?

the way your fingers

curled around my

triceps and the way

your eyes landed in mine

and the way your smile

was inspired by

my shyness.

25 December 2010

when fall painted the scene.

the way the sun fell down and drizzled its rays upon my face at dusk, swept glitters of the residue it left in the sky across my face, lowered my eyes to quench its escape, i felt my face painted by fall. by the fall of the sun. inspired to blink, i did. and in that brief moment between closing my eyes and reopening them, i saw the magnificence of the season spilled all over the concrete streets and pavements made of cement with no colour. now coloured with the burnt oranges and auburn red-brown leaves that flew heavily and lightly upon the streets. i saw the magnificence between my feathered eyelids. and for a second, i briefed, inhaled, exhaled, shared a fraction of my smile with a barren room, empty and alone, the slight of my smile was shared. and it slowly submerged into a faint stare. eyes opened. a solemn look surfaced upon the curvature of my structured face. and i starred into the distance at a street that had been swept clean of its decoration. swept clear by the wind that had been claimed by two souls, now separated. there was a message that anticipated to reach the presence of my iris, it anticipated to be read in a cup of silence. i scooped it into my bare hands and it read, "this is what happens when fall paints the scene. don't glow green. i still remember you."
  • appreciate everything for what it is.
  • appreciate everything for what it isn't.
  • appreciate everything for what it brings.
  • appreciate everything for what it takes away.
  • appreciate everything for what it teaches.
  • appreciate everything for what it holds back.
  • appreciate everything for what it leaves.
  • appreciate everything. period.

17 December 2010

last tear.

hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on. hold on.

there's Love in the throne. faith'll help you carry on.

16 December 2010

one hundred-ninety eight.

gut wrenching power.

i guess when you become
so familiar to what it's like
to hold on to something and
it disappears and leaves you
without request,
you're left with
a three letter question:

how?

15 December 2010

fertile soil.

in this soil under the Son, there have been seeds planted - growing together, unified, showered and directed towards heaven. seeds that have sprouted in a special way. sprouting in Love for Love to Love.
i have a thought.

14 December 2010

one hundred-ninety seven.

seventeen.

hey!
remember me?
i'm folded underneath
the memories of you
trying to forget me.
yeah, that's me!
:)

08 December 2010

one hundred-ninety six.

river of flowing words.

how can we sit and th()nk what happened
was ok when our ()ind won't allow it, no

our mind won't let go and
we try every po()sibility and we repeat

everything we said we w()uldn't but it gets
so hard and we grow irate, in a pile of confusion and reg()et

dropping every letter outside of our hands, refusing to
eliminate the p()ide, no one of us can confess what

is flooded between the eyes in ours, that
are overflowing - we cr() , placing pieces of dropped tear letters


together that read so clearly
the words we could never speak,
(i)(m) (s)(o)(r)(r)(y).

07 December 2010

one hundred-ninety five.

the girl that floats, infinitely.

she can float higher than the ranges of music
and float quieter than the moon when it crawls into the
sky at dawn - when the sun trades places,
she can float higher and quieter, that's her escape.

she can dance to the beats of the brisk and irresistible wind
while she takes the lead, hand in hand with every petal and leaf.
she recklessly floats, when she feels the pressures of this world
trying to close in on her like the jaws of alligators when they me(a)t their prey.

she can rip through the limits of the stratosphere and sing striking stars
into the days skies as she floats and flies through the stratus clouds, she
can be everything and anything when her mind zooms in on the things above
the things that only invite and acknowledge Love .

she is free from the chains and restrains of the worlds limitations
and she holds her ears high above the chaotic clusters that congregate on concrete
messages full of multitudes, things unedifying, things not real.
she floats and she floats and she floats away, glimmering in tonights sky.

look up, she might
slip into
the crevice
of your pupil.

one hundred-ninety four.

pocket full of posies.

picking pastel flowers from
the root of their contoured sketch -

cutting off their veins to invite
them to the lifeless death i see them in -

swaying them back and forth into the
shoulder of the cold, course air -

forcing its brittle petals to crack,
to fall off one by one, piece by piece -

i don't mean to destroy your masterpiece,
but i've tried watercolors for way too long -

you move me to the position of masking my face,
and disposing the waste you create -

you are not alive in this art form
instead, you are transparent. nonexistent.

that's just the nice way of saying
you are dead to this canvased field of art.

sorry you had to be the one,
you just make yourself easy to pick .

one hundred-ninety four.

final two weeks.

to light a match
on a trail of gasoline

ignorantly

setting ablaze a
settled flame

angrily

matching lights together
that ignite fires, hot fires

hot hot hot
fires of rage

pages burning, one by one
ready to count down -

no helicopters with red
power to calm this field of

fire
and
rain.

soon,
it'll be over
soon.

06 December 2010

one hundred-ninety three.

the way we fit things.

some things fit perpendicular.
some things fit wide.
some things fit round.
some things fit straight.

things fit some parallel.
things fit some narrow.
things fit some thin.
things fit some crooked.

fit some things correctly.
fit some things with elation.
fit some things with a journey.
fit some things with purpose.

01 December 2010

one hundred-ninety two.

environ(mental) disaster.

if i am not rescued soon
out of this bottomless ocean
flooding over with words -

my mind will explode and
a fatal verbal tsunami will occur.
this is why i need You.