"Take two: this gesture and your idea of what it is. Don't give back to me, don't thank for it. Just take; embrace..or leave"

He's not a saint, why does he preach? He's not a king with a speech. He might be a life giver; a dream liver..or a fool.

"One, two.. A lonesome day, a bright morning had come upon a jaw broken man. With the light on his shoulder, he had to find a job other than finding straws for birds to sew their nests, or threads for an old woman to build a house. He was faced with a sense of responsibility for the growing ideals and fish tanks that would trap his thirst and make him plead..or maybe grow"
"On the same day, a soldier had to run, not from fire but from his gun. He had to leave the army and follow a mother's call; a powerful instrument that conquers all..or maybe some."

He's not righteous or even sane. He's barely out there; his heart has gone vain. He lives with music and and his friend; shame. He might be loved for his name, but where does he stand now? Where does this entity remain?

"One, two.. There was a girl that heard of secrets in the alley but when she got there met the lions by the gate. She had a sense of fear but mostly a power she never knew. She was never told the truth and now it was time. She never fought for her secrets for she was told it's a crime. It was time. Her heart beat stood before her, the lions eyes lost their covers and told the secrets, then she knew they were okay..or she had none."

Tell this fool to stop. Tell him his voice is only the hope for an empty room, an empty chair and this hollow feel. Tell him not to feel.

Withering Blossoms

We had a house near the highway. It shook under our bed as the lonely people drove away. We lived on our breaths, our blossoms and the rain. We told stories to our ground, sang to the walls as they were built and planted lilies on the front yard.

We were a one way street that led to another; one was a game player _a champion when it comes to lifting hopes_ and the other, a sleeping star that fell for too many nights and woken up on different grounds. One had charming eyes that could grab the sun, and the other had ones that you'd follow in the dark. One believed in reason and the other believed in God. But whenever we were alone, we would hold each others hands like a parachute's handle. Nothing held fire other than a candle. We would take no sides or collide; we would only fill a room with our smiles.

If only memories weren't like a long road that parts from a railway. If only looking back was like looking out a car's window. Some days still show me there's more to moonlight than the sun. Never for once to remind me that we were never one.


I wish I had sleeping pills or a lucky stone under my pillow, so I never have to lift my head or get lost in my bed. And when silence passes by and makes me hollow, I'd find the hole in my chest and the light that has been shed. Maybe then I'd become a grave and bury the dead in me; tell him death is just another story; beautiful as the one grandma told and turned out to be, never scary, so don't worry. Someday an ocean that had once smelt of paper and poison will grab your scent. Someday I'll catch my breath and dive, until I drop you by accident.