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My Little Red Piggy Bank

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My Little Red Piggy Bank

I had a little red piggy bank the other day. With these yearning arms I raised the little thing and shook it Carrying to ears that have not heard A tinkly sound of chimes and adorable laughter. It was warm to my unkissed cheeks, And, looking inside, I found old memoirs- Stolen glances- Which were just about all I could get. The piggy bank lay at the corner of my room, beside my bed. Each night it would look at me, waiting. I myself wondered not just when it would be full, But how. Each night I saved up the same confession. And when it came to be that it became heavier, Much heavier than usual, I took the little red piggy bank

Coin Trade

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Coin Trade

A little elf made a trade with me In the night, perhaps in a dream: A gold coin for my destiny. But thinking that it was a dream I grinned and gave it away. The elf was gone the next I looked; Where he stood, the gold coin lay. I picked it up and cursed the crook And to waking I slowly went, But I felt bad that the trade was done And my riches were almost spent. So I sought to trade my coin for fun At the local drinking bar But on the way I tripped and fell And the coin rolled very far. I ran and leaped and ducked and well, The coin was the better man, Across the road it went past me And unto your waiting hand. "My dear, yo
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Twinkling

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Twinkling

Your eyes are like stars. Twinkling despite clouds at night, You shine from afar.

Farewell, Self

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Farewell, Self

Distance wraps itself around me, a lonely satellite being Floating in a sea of pure depth and space, Pure nothingness, blackness, or light. My branches sway towards you like sunflowers in the morning, Their existence now a second longer by the sweet sight Of you and him under a faraway moon. It is perpetually nighttime, where I live. Pieces of me, lost, or broken by careless museum patrons Shimmer like signals from a lover by a lighthouse. That same lover sighs, but returns each night, To send a sliver of light reflected from her eyes from the myriad stars To her faraway soul, saying, "return". When he smiles at you and your sight

Thoughts of You at Midnight

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Thoughts of You at Midnight

Late in the evening, after rain, Looking up into the night sky- My body becomes a simple mixture of Dust, wind, and thoughts or dreams, Floating above your home, Looking down towards your deep eyes That glimmer. Your hair is still wet. Perhaps you were waiting for someone, Thinking of that person while he is away. The night chill takes your sighs, And I could almost make out his name In the darkness. You send out wishes towards shooting stars, And from my lonely place I am suddenly pierced By a rush of sparkling, hungry, delirious longing. My sight follows it along a trail of stardust, Where it falls upon my distant body; On

I am Fire

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I am Fire

Underneath the naked night is I, a flame. I, a flickering fire feeding on earth, wood, leaf, The thought of birdsong under a clear sky, On dreams, hope, or images of the ocean, On the memory of our first meeting and the imagined next, Am the sum of all these parts. My eyes are ephemeral as they look towards the stars Just as my wishes as they rush outwards from me. The clouds, tired of hearing your name, give me rain. I flicker, fading, each burst of flame an arm Reaching out and only catching a ray of starlight Aged a hundred million or so: The fragment of sunset burning into the darkness Fades too fast to recognize the deceit.
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It is her eyes that I love...

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It is her eyes that I love...

It is her eyes that I love, I think; Her face is a haze as I walk the streets in the evening. Once, those same eyes looked at me from a ruffled cloud where her head lay, the beads of sweat on her forehead Glistening like stars underneath the night-shadow of me. Alone with a drink, it made for a fine recollection. I remember I had seen her long, black hair, Like the shadow cast by an angel, Once, on a stranger. Once, those strands held me in rapture As I walked beside her. The streets in the evening gave way to her image. The world is not a selfish being, indeed; It has given me many chances to love. Too many women have I seen,

When

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When

When the waves are lulled to restful sleep By the fiercest breeze or most ardent wish Or when men lose their way in the morning; When the gods become like trees, solitary rocks, Silent, flightless birds, languid Spring, Unlearned wisdom, muted orchestra, unrequited love: These are the times when I do not miss you. There is a little thing inside of me that echoes, Its humdrum beating like the sound of a water wheel Along a dying river. There, it speaks to me, Tells me to be silent and think of only one thing And that alone, and for all those infinitesimal seconds, Until it finally bursts into uncountable, minute Fragments of hope,

I see infinity...

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I see infinity...

I see infinity in your eyes, As how the seas appear vast under moonlight, its waves A welcoming motion towards its unknown depths Or how the hand-picked flower seems eternally in bloom When they leap from my hand to yours. Of what wonders exist within you That I might yet uncover? This certain uncertainty Dares me to search you as if to strip you Of your clothes, and in the same way, it excites me; Your depths are challenged only By this yearning, yet for many nights I still Share sorrows with the moon, my solitary witness.

The Equation

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The Equation

She stood there, mind agape, as she stared at the two black lines on the wall. The room, now painted a bare white, was being readied for furnishing - all of the things that gave it character were boxed or sent to the other rooms. She remembered the time when she was young, when there was a small place by the corner of the room where her dolls were stacked. A gift from her parents, from a childhood best friend and another (she had many best friends), and one from a boy she particularly liked; they were just toys, but sometimes they were also people. And then she remembered her fluffy, queen-sized bed, where she once brought the boy she particu
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Enlightenment

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Enlightenment

If there is something so profound That it cannot be explained; Only understood, I seek to find it. There is meaning in the search, Along with contentment, yet I have none of either. If life sat on the throne Of a woman's body, I did not find it there. If truth and valor Were keys unlocking, I was not set free. If hope, unity, peace Rested along the feathers Of this quill pen, Then I have not done them Justice in writing this poem. There is only desperation In the search, and yearning. And along with it comes The need to retire. Yet I cannot bring myself to Sleep even for a single dream; There is only desperation In the

Upon Retrospect

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Upon Retrospect

I thank my good fortune That through these eyes I cannot see myself. When my face is in clear View, I dread to admit The number of holes: Pockmarks and scars And memories, Nor the blemishes, The cracked nose, the bat-wing ears, The defeats. I thank my good fortune That through these eyes I cannot see myself. For there is truth then When I say that I see myself as a man Of honor, of worth, An immortal machine Spewing truths: a Soul with a body and not The other way around. I have the courage To say that I can see And see others In the same light, for No man can dare to Disprove me: In doing so does he Disprove him

I yearn for thee...

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I yearn for thee...

I yearn for thee, o fair, fair history, When my feet innocent tasted much soil And the sky was a mere arm's stretch from me. I seek thee for thy nameless dates: the oil In my machine is a thin, sickly pus. My belov'd artifice has me betrayed, I detect, for I had lived naught of trust Doth proving mine heart so falsely portrayed. Strong men do from their own strength tire and bore; Sharp wit doth cut ever so equally. When in resistance find their bodies sore And in their brandished gallantry tricked, see: There be no teacher better than the past; Those who forget are forgotten as fast.

Seasons

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Seasons

I find that I cannot write. My hands are twisted branches that have no grip And though I seek escape from the mocking scrap Of paper before me, I find that I am firmly rooted in my place On a chair that is of foreign skin. How running away could have been so convenient That the rustling of grass composed By my feet sang a song of repose And the air that I pierced With my bullet body proved fragile; True victory, I came to know. But the field is now of concrete; The sounds of each step are Drowned by the sirens And the air that I pierced Proved the same in that plunge. I found the words that had escaped me just within my grasp

Of mornings, there is...

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Of mornings, there is...

Of mornings, there is ever only one Kind that wakes us, saying, "you are alive." It is not the rooster that wakes, nor the sun, Nor the birds outside when their songs arrive. There is that voice, that thunderclap whisper, That tingles our ears like tickling kisses Bidding us wake from heavenly slumber And leaving our mouths sing thankful praises. A day is not merely a day by chance; 'Tis by His many graces and blessings, Though sometimes late and oftentimes in advance, That we come to know the worth of waking. In mornings, there is ever only one; Each day, one Father, waking up His sons.

Castles

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Castles

The writer is a fortress. Its blaring horns never rest In the infinite proclamations Of expeditions for Grails, and against dragons. There is life in each facet of this reality; That even the granite bricks of the walls Be stoic watchmen Whereforth its construction Each placing of the stone Bears and indelible imprint Of character and history. And the bells would ring and signal That there are foreigners. What are epics without intrigues And tell-tale villains? There are no heroes without them, Alas, and no rest for anyone either. Yet this castle has no need for rest - It embraces each volatile activity As its own newborn

I dare not count my time...

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I dare not count my time...

I dare not count my time with thee in days: Time is not forgetful nor forgiving. Days stretch too long; I cannot count the ways, My attempts, to redeem all those waiting. And what with that fundamental measure, That intricate ticking of the old clock, Might move to settle this mere disclosure? Time doth holdeth seconds too much in stock. Yet creativity is not required To find the solution to this query; Though the only answer this mind has sired Would be to simply count by memory. For the mind, as Time doth, never forgets And I, the slave to what mem'ries beget.

Might I not remember...

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Might I not remember...

Might I not remember this rhyme, Annexed in the instant Yet forever lost in time That when spoken flows as smooth As if holy words heaven sent To rejuvenate the tides of lost youth. Let me forget much as thou would Escape mine words Mine thoughts to elude Whatever ways construct The usual manners of the world To serve as though the very strands of luck. Might I not remember this rhyme, That when whispered to ears Should sing as siren's rime That in each note played by tongues Sound in every stage unheard eres't Form in dance songs in songs. So as in each of those hours Those rare opportune times When on the bed of night li

I seek the rain...

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I seek the rain...

I seek the rain to I, the yearning pasture Bid'st the seeds of my toil release From this naked, unchaste land. There was not the morn' and the fort'night spared A single measure of the drought's draught Nor even a mere, imagined pleasure; This night to be as the prior spent. Though I be stripped to the skin as to almost bare bone Thou art the stone to the sculptor's affection: Whereforth thine image breathes the artist's wish Then, thine irony prove, move'st not to undo thine portrait If only for perfection's sake ungrant not his request And continue thy projected mockery. I seek the rain to I, the yearning pasture Let not these

What be this that seeketh...

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What be this that seeketh...

What be this that seeketh mine heart dismay, This that be the shroud to this morning's light That moveth the unknowing sun away Who in darkness' gift hide mine tears, mine plight. What be this that would overturn mine smile That shackles mine heart from its own beating Appearing now an empty thing beguiled Naught of a shadow as it lay dying. What be it that placed my mind in question Burning out from all the imaginings From clearing out all of the illusions And bearing the pain of those worrisome stings. Your words, my dear, though sumptuously sweet Had come to me in this moment's defeat.
Artist // Hobbyist // Literature
  • Dec 10, 1984
  • Philippines
  • Deviant for 14 years
  • He / Him
Badges
Llama: Llamas are awesome! (8)
My Bio
Current Residence: Philippines
Favourite genre of music: Rock/Alternative
Operating System: Windows XP
Personal Quote: "This above all: to thine one self be true." - WS

Favourite Movies
The Prestige, Star Wars
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Submersed, Bush, Dishwalla, L'Arc~en~Ciel, Franz Ferdinand
Favourite Writers
Pablo Neruda, William Shakespeare, Walt Whitman
Favourite Games
RF Online, Perfect World, Digital Devil Saga Series, Legend of Zelda Series
Favourite Gaming Platform
PC, PS3
Tools of the Trade
Inspiration, the mind's fleeting muse.
Other Interests
Writing, guitar, video games, anime, MMORPGs, roleplaying

New Things

New Things

On Monday, my resignation would be in effect, and I would be free from my work to pursue my own creative goals. I'm looking forward to that. In the midst of thinking about what to do next, I thought about my writing and how I haven't done that for a while. I think I'm a bit rusty but I don't think anyone should let that get in the way.

1st Month

1st Month

Dear Cat, Happy monthsary to us! X3 Sure does feel like we've been a couple for more than a month. Feels like a year already, actually (as we've always been saying). I'm really glad I met you. I think it was fate... Maybe there were a few lonely angels in heaven who chanced upon our wandering souls and thought, "the world needs a bit more love. We just need to make those two people meet to make it right." Well, whatever the case, I am grateful. There was something about you that drew me in the first I saw you. I think I saw a vision of us. I just had to get to know you. I couldn't let go of that opportunity. I took it longingly, and I rem

Winter

Winter

Although I woke up early yesterday, I felt oddly tired. I could hear a light wheezing from my breath and I wondered if it was because of fatigue (from band practice the day before) and the few moments of smoke exposure I've been experiencing these past few days. I ended up sleeping for two more hours. Later at work, though, I found myself feeling sleepy again. I wondered why, but nothing came to mind. I promised not to bother Cat today since she'd be going out with Xandra. Their gimmicks have been getting postponed for quite some time now, and I didn't want to distract her now that it had pushed through. I'm sure they're going to miss each o

Comments 176

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SketchyBrohoofHobbyist General Artist
Kumusta po!
skywestphaliaHobbyist General Artist
happy b-day
Thank you so much for the watch~:heart: :iconsugarfanplz:
skywestphaliaHobbyist General Artist
happy b-day ^^
skywestphaliaHobbyist General Artist
Happy b-day!
is it me or your little slide stories stop midway? :O

ps: perfect world huh? ^^
skywestphaliaHobbyist General Artist
Hey there! How's life?

Oh, and advance happy dA b-day! here's a :llama: for a gift! ^^