I hear your elocution
at the chrysanthemum stage,
with spears, bolts and execution;
ask yourself that minimum voltage.
Monthly Archives: September 2014
I hear your elocution
Life is stranger than fiction,
Fiction is better than life,
We pen Hollywood productions,
while romancing those skinny divers.
Sipping Vodka on this old piano,
Flickering lashes upon our lips,
Going side by side along the pole,
Roses are meant for damsel in distress,
Have you been sending me a lot lately?
Enjoy flirting with these melodies,
I scent our dangerous love,
Let them fall upon us come what may,
You hold the key to my scar,
Unlock it — tell me what I should learn from.
Fumbling happiness on a Russian Roulette,
Trapped within her labyrinth,
Flipping love and paper cutting my thumb,
Are you the one I call home?
There you are; holding my hand with courage.
Walking under the rain tonight,
Back to the night you left me,
Unable to reach out to you,
My arms shiver; unreachable.
Here the cramps are making its rounding,
Like we’ve returned to the basic,
After all have been drenched and over with,
But my soul’s not for you to share.
Brokenness I’ve gotten it sedated,
Emptiness that I shall not give a damn,
If I’m lonely I can start the game,
But I won’t hurt anyone like you did.
Press the button, I’ve gone unnoticed,
It’s only for a while I’m caught up,
Let me deal with my grief like I should,
Shutting down doesn’t mean that’s the end.
This will never be the same,
An open wound in the public name,
I’ve itched for this kind of fear,
Never be afraid for what you want from me.
Memento of salvation,
Gorging a pack of hybrids,
Tearing down every brick
in the nick of suspension.
Reverberate that morning dew
in the eyes of budding strangers,
where foreign languages no more an alien
but a driving force to be who you are.
Everyone is asking about you
But I’m unable to reveal that
we have parted yesterday.
So I take a deep breath
and wish you all the best.
Telling myself each time
that this is the final embrace,
the last kiss; the last smile to —
But God knows I can’t do it.
There’s a sad face
underneath this smile, but
that glimpse of hope will
surface if my eyes are to meet
I’m just another child
from the mystical frontier.
Flags of splitting fire swim-
ming like fountain of baptism.
Throwing away those plush toys
didn’t mean that’s the end of our
memory. Because there isn’t one
that’s worthwhile after all.
This is our finale,
twenty days of semi-unconsciousness,
No more a wounded dove;
Emerging Phoenix —