56

by no means
am i a guiding light
by no perspective
am i superior
we are all constituent
of the same pieces of earth
that formed generations before
and continue
to create more
by that we are equal
but like a puzzle we are unique
a piece in a picture
as we are ourselves the picture
of the pieces of which we consist
and in our differences
will the light be found
you are not bound to
follow my path
as i am not driven
to traverse yours
but in synergetic
expression in
the light that we shine
whether yours
or mine
we can perhaps clear
the road ahead
and together
at least know
where we’re going
instead

55

life for
nothing
sacrifice
optimism
resonating
fear
surrender
happiness
discover
disappointment
forget
hope
embrace
isolation
without
without
isolation
embrace
hope
forget
disappointment
discover
happiness
surrender
fear
resonating
optimism
sacrifice
nothing
for life

39

After experiencing it
You can never forget
Whether you lose sight
Smell
Hearing
I will always remember that sensation
The heart expanding
The energy in your veins
The perfection of the moment
The fake imitation of the fairy tale
As I put my lips
On yours.

33

I was walking toward my next class when I passed two men preaching Christianity
Stopping, I sat down and listened to them out of curiosity
The gathering seemed intent on proving the two wrong in every aspect
I watched the discussion burn like an unattended cigarette
Tired of the bickering between one and the other, I stand up to leave
One of the Christians sees this and asks, “What do you believe?”
“Like there’s more than one road, one path to any location
There isn’t one single right path to our final destination”
He nods in comprehension and says, “That may be true
But do you happen to have your car keys with you?”
I positively respond, and he asks for my keys
I give them to him and he says to me
“To get on that road, you’re gonna need a car
With the keys to your house, will you get very far?”
“No,” I say, “I can’t unlock my car of course
Just like how my car keys will not unlock yours
We’re given different keys, to our own set of wheels
Unique to us, like the differences in our beliefs, I feel
And while our keys are different in this case
Can’t our respective cars drive to the same place?”

20

Hail in warm weather… the world is truly coming to an end.

Technically the world has been ending ever since it started… a depressing way to look at things but it puts things in perspective.

As the wind blows past I watch the road come to an end… like a metaphoric suggestion that pushes to write my life, the pavement abruptly halts and the dirt begins.

From the world of conformity to life in its purest form… and then it ends.

The car careens off the ledge and into the air, and soon I’m in free fall, the wind pushing upwards as my body pulls down as gravity intended it to be.

It’s a calm blur, in a vaguely suicidal way. The ground comes up to meet me and I wonder, why did that road end at a cliff anyways?

27

Wake up, society! Shake off the thought that every breath you take may matter, because by any manner of interpretation it is just one under the sun of a billion dying each day that you inhale the air into your lungs, that you exhale your breath into the sun as many expel their last as yours just passed.

Past thoughts and actions take no meaning when millions stop breathing.

So take up your complaints to the faint,the tainted, the painted and sainted and sacred, to the scorned, the mourned, the fragile and forlorn.

Expect an answer to all trivial matters in 3-5 weeks.

Until then, take a second before you speak.

25

Faded colors reach his eyes, as they shutter open in a manner that only one could experience. They have been closed for a very long time, and in opening them, the man sees a world that is new and strange to him.

There is a fine line between the strange and new, and often the line begins to blur. The new is often criticized as strange, and thus does not get the respect it deserves. I feel like that happens most all the time, and I feel for those who get the bad end of the deal.

In minutes he has discovered that he can move his body. It is like his mind is wiped clean, a baby of sorts. New to the world and unexperienced. Everything is of a different sort, and with a vague curiosity he finds his way and explores.

The child, in the purest form, is much like animals of old. Relying solely on instincts, the brain must develop synapses that connect sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, to each other. The distinct advantage of the child is that the mind is always open. Rules are not set in the mind of a child, and therefore, things are new but not strange.

11

I look at the moon late at night, wondering about the little nothings that seem to occupy the lives of all around me. There are those who look up at the sky, and think about where everything comes from. Why are we here, what is our purpose? These are the questions that are on any one person’s mind somewhere on this green earth. But when I look up, I don’t think these things. We’re here, we are alive, and as wonderful as that feeling is, that is all it is. Why wonder about it when you could spend such a worthwhile time setting about, and enjoying what little time we have?

That is the moon, to me. A sign of life. Of my love of life. Of my love to you. Because like the moon, life revolves. It circles around us and never quite reaches us unless WE reach out for it on our own. Because like the moon, my love may not always be visible, but it will always be there.

3

Reminisce of the could-have-beens
and the world of possibilities.

Keep your mind out of the present and into the past.

Forget what’s important now and remember what was.

That’s how he does it.
Lives in the past, and dies in it.

Blood flows into the past and spirit dwells continually. What a life to live.

If only if only.

2

It will never be seen. The teething that comes about in strides of tremulant crimson. Thousands of iterations of biting and ripping and soon the animal will be revealed. Less than a whole, that is the feeling of that word that is questioned. Crimson drips from the animal, and with a flash of light forever given into memory. Frozen in the dark heat of the rays, right where it belongs. A dream, one of extreme emotion that circles around in a menacing threat that weaves elaborate scenes of contentment. Reach for it, do not give into the emptiness that rips forward with little regard for the heart. Beating, the organ pulses with new life, fueled by the minor expectation that will never be fulfilled. Undefined, the roar in the ears experiences a sudden shift, and the tone alters in such a way that sadness into anger, into uninformed joy. A brush strokes into white canvas and paints an image of a person, faded away through black. No eyes, for one cannot see what one cannot feel. When the eyes open, he hopes to see in them compassion, for the beating heart of crimson. Hoping that the suffering of the mind will end. Erratic movements and personality turn away in fear of rejection, and on and on and on and on. Unexplainable and unreasonable. The cryptic words upset the eyes unless it is truely interpreted in the eyes. Spiraling down in shades of blue, the rose dies away, the red fades. And soon, all is black.