Emily

May 8, 2015

She tried to look away from her
stains
Of sorrows, sadness and despair
Overcome by the Dreary, the Encumbered
Little did she know
Her soul, rubbed raw, now laid
bare
And as her being seeped open
Hallowed demons awakened
Craving for sombre lifeless
emotion
An incessant pang arose unquenched
Awaiting to succumb to the appealing
wrath of retribution.

Untitled

Dec 9, 2014

A passing breeze, a haunting memory
Sand slipping away past your outstretched fingertips
A lucid dream, a forgotten face
Ebbing away like a trickling stream
The last dying embers of a waning fire
A raggedy plaything tossed aside, strewn and unkempt
Drifting thoughts, vague memories, out of focus
A fallen soldier, descending down into the gaping trenches
Leaves floating down to the beckon of Mother Earth the Temptress

Never to rise again from the sanguine graves they lay buried in
  Nothing but a blurred haze remains of what once was
Stepped upon and trampled down into the ground
Lost forevermore, deserted, forgotten and abandoned.





I decided not to give a title to this poem, because I think it is meant to represent whatever comes to your mind when you read it. If you have anything in particular that is brought into mind by these verses, feel free to share what this poem meant to you below.

The Phoenix Post

Oct 23, 2014
    The author, bows his head in shame, sad that the blog been dead for many a year (nearly three to be precise). The author tries to jab a stick into whatsoever remains, hoping that a proverbial Phoenix may arise from the ashes, in all it's pristine fiery glory. But alas, procrastination, laziness and general dreariness are not merely to blame, albeit those might be deciding factors in this death. We can go on and on, cross-examining what went wrong, but the one concrete fact remains the same: a death happened, and it doesn't matter why. Hopefully, this post title will invoke the Phoenix's spirit to lift itself out the ashes.

    So much has happened in these last few years, so many moments that needed to be cherished, penned, transformed into letters, words and sentences, all of them remain lost, a foggy distant memories that pique up sub-consciously.

    Time is a unmerciful bitch, her reach leaving all powerless, clawing away at everything and anything that happens to chance upon its deathly grasp. Years fly by without notice, everything seems a blur, perchance a dream that one hasn't quite completely forgotten. A lurching fear persists, this unguided bogey meandering about, being tossed about hither and thither, never knowing when the tracks give way to a steep cliff leading to a never-ending abyss. Or rather, so many jerks have happened, never realizing that this fall into the abyss has already happened, and has been going on forever, the bumps on the tracks but a dream of the distant past, as you sleep, conserving energy, hoping to one day awaken when the ride has stopped. But, sadly, it never will.

    Things that have always seemed absolute and certain wear away, and it is not until whatsoever little that remains crumbles in your fingertips, lost forever to the heartless bitch , Time, that one realizes that certainty is merely a notion, a hope. Dilapidation has been happening before your very eyes without you ever realizing it, the shift so gradual and concealed, that change is but a little obnoxious fly buzzing in your ear, merely an annoyance as you wave your hand trying to drive it away to a territory not within your own domain.

    A hollowed, empty void remains in us all. We're not quite sure how to fill it, or rather, where it even is, or what it may be, but it is tuned within us, a knowing, a certainty, that it us our quest to find the piece of that puzzle and put it in its place, only then shall one find true peace. And this journey is but a race against Time to make sure that as you pass by your piece, you find it, pick it up, and put it in its place. But, sadly, stops along the way distract us, tacky shiny toys attract our attention, begging to be played with, a temptation to quit altogether and remain in a boundless limbo, surrounded by emptiness.

Why Nothing's Shown Up For A While

Jul 3, 2012

Busy? Probably.
Lack of motivation? Likely.
Lazy? Nailed it.

Like Sheep

Mar 29, 2012

Ever since the author was a wee little Ay Jay, he loathed following the crowd, in other words, fads. Anything vaguely interesting to him instantly looses its sheen as soon as everyone's talking about it and doing it. He likes being exclusive. He likes being the sore rash that sticks out. That weirdo next door. No, he doesn't mind not looking like a bunch of sardines in a can, albeit with Mohawks and Porcupines and other animals and birds for hair. This partly explains his obsession with Old School Rock, clunky retro glasses, movies from the nineties and the preceding years. Make no mistake, it's not that he exclusively likes 'em because they aren't popular, it's merely a contributing factor. And it's not that he hates everything modern - another one of his obsessions is technology. Mere words fail to explain a geekgasm. But, alas, as always, I digress. I could dedicate an entire article apiece to his obsession with Tech and Rock. Maybe I should. 

Walking

Dec 31, 2011
A silhouette in the distance
The streetlamps cast their lights
Momentarily cast a flickering glow
On his round hat, his trench coat.
He walks.
Though the night is dark
Though not a soul is awake.
Wandering, searching,
yearning
Craving for what he knows not.
He walks.
His eyes are dead hollows
Mystical allure
Of the darkness within him.
He walks.
He moves with purpose
His steps are firm, resolute
His black worn out boots
Yet to see the light of day.
Well past the witching hour
He treads.
He walks.
He walks alone.

The Clan Falleth

Mar 1, 2011

"But kindred elves we be,
How canst thou slay thine own family?"
"Mine thirst for power must be quenchd'd,
The darknes within me keeps me enthrench'd..."
And Dwin'rae slayed his brethren
The land bled,he spared no friend.
The sacrifice made, he awaited.
The ritual pillage done, his soul dissipated,
Calmly ebbing; The Elven Curse didst fall,
Dwin'rae had doomed his clan, once and for all.

An Insufficient Tribute

Jan 27, 2011
He came at a time no mortal man was ready for. His speed, his inhumane abilities could never have been foreseen. He is nothing short of superhuman, his 'Airness' is a reincarnation of the God of Basketball in flesh and blood. No other man so rightly deserves that acclaim, the very fabric of the noble sport stitched into his skin. None could could stop him, none could catch up with him. Gravity seems to seep away as this celestial being rises above all others, his weapon of choice none other than himself. Words are lost, there is nothing but amazement; speechlessness arises out of sheer awe. Some might claim him to be the best, there is a reason why. His name commands respect, and no other being deserves it as richly as this man does. Michael Jordan. A Legend. The Legend.

"To Air is not human, its essence Divine."

The Curse

Dec 11, 2010

Mayst thine nightly slumbers,
Be possessed, dreary, encumbered;
Mayst the accursed flames of Hell,
Despised by all, wretched beyond compel;
Consume thee, thine flesh of despair,
O ye, mayst thou suffer beyond compare.
Burn, quench my bloodlust,
Spill your guts, I thirst,
For thine sinewy agony,
Thine tortured cries, mine undying harmony.

Haiku - 1

Nov 4, 2010
(Hope I got the number of syllables right.)


From air comes forth fire,
Round infinitesimal wicks;
Thine destiny blazes.