Poetry drips from
his fingers―
his heart, his touch,
his words.
Sometimes, I think
he’s only an illusion,
because I can only have
him through metaphors.
Painted in Metaphor
To Welcome In
It was like a lightning flash
when the days fastly ended
All those flashbacks ago were
captured like photographs, placed
in my memory, tangled and wrapped.
And the bucket of fall downs,
spinning into its motions,
creating a burn and sting,
but at least it was all real,
and the reason why I am still here.
Now, all the birds in the sky sings
as a new year’s dawn welcomes in.
dreams
If dreams don’t do
come true, then
I would invent
it in my head just
to be with you.
the world with you
Dancing under
the soaking rain,
running places
we could go far away,
with our hands
in touched, we
forget everything
around us―
Is this falling in
love feels like?
Because I would
search the world
to fall in love with
you all over again.
infinite
Late night car drives,
empty highway and my
skin under the moonlit night,
the glow of the street lights,
as the cold wind passes us by,
with our endless laughters to
every beat of our heart―
In that moment, I let myself free,
and in that moment, I feel infinite.
It Goes On
Life will not always align the way it should be. Some days, the rays of the sun comes out, and then the next day, tear drops of rain will spill down. You wouldn’t predict what’s next to come, or what will happen until it’s just there, coming along the way. But what I find beautiful about it is that, it is breathing and alive, and it still goes on.
story of ghosts
on a one, long table
I watch a story goes;
those finest laughters
weren’t hinted by sorrow,
the smell of my favorite meal,
it makes my stomach grumbling;
how everyone was delighted,
I hope this moment would never end;
but, as I watch them one by one
all I see is a story of ghosts,
of a happy memory that’s long gone
that I kept; I can’t let it go
sunwind
vast of greens―
I can breathe, again.
ghost of words
it was always
like a caress
how your ghost
of words
were carried to me
with tenderness.
in the past,
they were a therapy
to me, but now
it was a sort of plague―
just remnants in my memory.
Midnights
Moments passed by so fast in just a blink of an eye―
like a shadow that is always
behind your back but never really
Seeing it until you stay in the dark
And the only thing that gives
you light is the moon from above.
Maybe, it’s like waiting for hours,
In an empty space, not being solid,
finding somewhere deep within to
feel even just a flicker of something―
Perhaps, excitement? A little life?
But then, the clock keeps ticking,
never stopping for once, just as
its hands falls to another midnight.
joannachse 