Requiem for a Pipe DreamEverything seemed perfect,it just all fit into place.That is, until the day it slowlyblew up in my face.I should have know much better,seen it coming from afar,but we never truly understandhow blinded that we areby hope and need and every voidwe just can't seem to fill.However much you feed them,they just get hungrier still.I'd like to think I've finally learnedthis lesson once again,but I'm sure that I will probablybe back here now and then.
What was I thinking?Caught unawaresand unable to dealwith a foolish illusionthat I thought was real.A lapse in composure,a loss of control.A lifelong anomalytaking its toll.
We're ThereAnd so, at last, we've reached the inevitable end,the destination we've been chasing all along.A bittersweet resolution to everything we've doneand now, I guess, it's time to say so long.
The Myth of IndependenceYou say "hell is other people.",but where do you think you'd beif everyone around youshared your misanthropic view?Without cooperation,in a world of apathy,what exactly is itthat you think that you could do?
Brain WaveFor so long I was stuck,but then inspiration struck.I found the right idea, at lastand now I'm on my way.
So That HappenedJust when I thought that itwas over, said and done,something told me thatit's only just begun.So I took another shotand tried with all my might,I only hope that it'senough to make things right.
Misanthropic Abandon“Hell is other people”,a wise man once did sayand from where I'm standing,they can all just go away.No one is an island,but I'm damn sure going to try.They only people I want to knoware me, myself and I.
MediocrityIn the mushy middleright between loved and despised.With no distinguishing features,but potential unrealized.It leaves no lasting impression,just emphatic apathyso all that's left to sayis that there's nothing here to see.
I'm FreeBreaking out of oldstructuresand their inherentrestrictionsuntil all that's leftis pureexpression.Completelyunfettered,and finallyset freeto embrace theopportunityto say exactlywhat's onmy mind.
Collected TrioletsThere are some stories I cant tell.You are too old for fairytales.You are too old for carousels.There are some stories I cant tell.You father said he wished you well.He said the card is in the mail.There are some stories I cant tell.You are too old for fairytales.Its hard pretending not to care.Your smile is worn on mannequins.Im sure I saw one wear your hair.Its hard pretending not to careThat you are standing, silent, thereAnd separation is glass thin.Its hard pretending not to care.You smile is worn on mannequins.You didnt hear me whenI said I loved you. OnceI mentioned it again.You didnt hear me. WhenYou laughed I knew right thenI had to change my stance.You didnt hear me whenI said, I loved you once.The bees attack an orchid bloom,The hornets laugh and then they glowerAnd then they start mixing bee tombs.The bees attack an orchid bloomBut merely buzz their foolish doom,The hive descends on pur
The Lights Are Speaking to Me NowThe lights are speaking to me now,a glinting gala on the prowof my ship. I do not need tofind safety in your arms. I amtrouble with a battering rampoised behind my eyelids. The hueof your burnished shields will fail, foreven the gods have assured yourloss. The lights will dance with my crew.Statistically, we should never have fallenin love; our hearts were polluted with pollen.You were never subtle (celestial craneshung from the space between us) when handed reins.You bruised my spirit with the letters you left,but I will never be a person bereft.Do not ask me to love you again, becauseI never do what I'm asked, remember? Wasmy roar, louder than thunder, making your skiestremble? If not, to your challenge I will rise.Statistically, we should never have fallenin love; our hearts were polluted with pollen.You were never subtle (celestial craneshung from the space between us) when handed reins.I have lions teeth woven in my neck, clawssharp, they extend from my fi
To Save A PrincessTo Save A Princess:In most of the stories, whether old or newIt is usually the knight that saves the maidenBut reality is never as sweet as thatAnd often the truth gets slightly misshapenBut this is a story about the truth;A tale of Pirates who aided the KingThough most would credit his honoured knightsWe know they didn't do a thing...Instead what happened is an epic storyFor it began on a night when the moon was fullThe Pirates slipped from their hallowed shipLike wolves cloaked in woolThey hid amongst the jagged rocksAnd called like birds to communicateThe soldiers thought they were hearing thingsUntil they began to hallunicate...Visions of frightening ghosts and shadesCovered their eyes and sent them screamingThey clawed at their faces and toppled to the ground;They woke the camp with their horrid keeningThe ground was alive with running footstepsYet soldiers began to fall like snowIn panic their ears could not hear the soundOf the rifle
Sick and TiredSick and Tired:I'm sick and tired of trying hardI'm tired of slaving away.I'm tired of doing everythingAnd just living day to day...I'm tired of being a personI'm tired of being me.What happened to the pastDid I lose it out at sea?I think I'm simply frustratedThese words I cannot string.Is this the end of my poetryOr the revival of a king?"Will I reach the peak, or I will die here in ignominy"-Chen Yuan Wen, 3rd May 2012
FriendsFriends are the only angelsWe'll ever get to seeWhile still on earthWhile we still can breathThey're there for usThrough thick and thinThey light our wayWhen our path is dimTo hold your handTo counsel you throughTo help you outTo hold to you trueThey're God's little giftTo show you He's thereThey're his angel's to youTo show you that he does care
Listening For InspirationTaste the breath of timid wordsarising from my speech.Dripping through my lips,unfurling sails of poetry.Catching wind of empty waves,the words fall one by one.They stoop the gentle break of dayand melt through river's run.Curl beneath the shaded treesand hide in hollowed rocks.They topple through the spider's weaveand splash through bursting drops.Sit behind the sunsetand before the rising skies,dipping palms in Bluejay's songswhile frosting tearful eyes.Complimenting purple streaksacross the orange noon.Their silhouetting shadows castingfreckles for the moon.Passing secret whispersthrough the cursive of my pen,these sleeping inspirations waitto see the sun again.
One DayThe inevitable inches closer,slowly stalking me.Shadowing my every stepand I know that eventuallyit's going to catch up with me.I can not get awayso all that's left to do is live,while I still can, today.