Before December

January has passed
Candles have been blown out
Snow didn't last
As long as did your pout

February sets in
With a mild gentle breeze
Heat could never win
Against eyes that could freeze

March begins to spring
Don't birds and bees abound
Listen to songs they sing
You never could hear a sound

April falls and I could see
The sun of my vague dreams
I asked if you believe me
You never did, it seems

May rises
I realize dreams are for all the wise
All in the roll of dice
No tears and no goodbyes

June sets a new pace
A quarter and I leave
You and your haunting face
My dreams I set out to weave

* I promise to return
When the sun and moon are one
Oh, I have much to learn
Yet all is set and done
I'll get back to you
Before December

No, I won't sing until December
'Cause that means I'm gone too long
I'll get back to you
Like I promised to
Won't you promise, too
I'll get back to you


For Vae Victis
For friendship
For dreams
When we believed we can own the world

Crossing the Great Divide

Death is like a thief in the night.
We do not know when it will creep upon us
And claim our souls.

Unpredictable.
Or is it?

We all know there's an end to all this.
Sometimes sooner than we wish.

Are we not just role-playing in a choreographed dance
Of life and death?
We live. We die.
We live. We die.
An hourglass for each of us.
Some with lots of sand.
Some with just a few grains.
How mundane it can be
For the indifferent.

Yes, there may be an end to all this soon.

We LIVE.
We feel.
We laugh... cry...
dream... hope...
reminisce... suffer...
enjoy... endure...
choose... hate.
We LOVE.
A myriad of emotions.

And we meet our Maker.
The end is simply the beginning
Of a new life.

11.01.07
For you and your beloved

Self-Derision... It bites sometimes

Self-Derision

I have lost it.
My youth has left me.
My mind has betrayed me;
All creativity sucked from my soul,
And doubts sink in.

Was I ever a new thought?
Was I ever impressive?
Was I ever desired?
Or was I simply delusional?
Have I ever felt that overrated emotion?
Or was it pure imagination?

I feel so hollow.
My fleeting moods are not enough to define me.
I am but an insignificant speck
Perhaps attempting to find my place
In a purgatory of self-pity,
Which is utterly, infuriatingly pathetic.

Switching to a new mood.
Discontent.

I am one step behind anorexic
And two steps beyond bulimic;
Shall I fear possible cancer
Or shall I fool myself into believing
That in the afterlife
I have all eternity to be a wraith?

I own nothing.
None of this is mine.
So why all the effort?
Why all the pain?
Why all this longing for the peace of indifference?
Why all this inconsistency?
Why all these questions?

Faith.

10.21.07